Midwest Madness
by Bucking Reg
Summary: Cameron's your typical teenager, with worries that didn't really go beyond school or friends. When an infection hits home, however, he finds that his priorities must change, and that he has to fight for his right to live.
1. Matchmaking

Cameron Marsh left his English class in the foulest of moods. _D? That bitch gave me a D?_ For the first time all year he actually busted his ass on a paper, and this was how he was repaid. As he traversed the halls, he looked so unpleasant that nobody got in his way.

When he finally got to his locker and exchanged some books, he slammed it with an audible "Dammit!"

"Language," a passing teacher reprimanded lazily.

Upon reaching his Biology class, Cameron threw himself onto his chair and groaned.

"I take it that Sullivan screwed you over?" Mike Gibbons said next to him.

"Yup," Cameron replied gruffly.

The professor called for attention and he began to talk about the cell cycle.

Cameron could not have been more grateful when the end of the school day arrived. His anger subsided somewhat, and it made him feel better to get in his Toyota and make his way home. It also made Cameron feel better that his parents wouldn't be home to ride his ass about his grades.

Conveniently they were in Hawaii trying to spice their marriage back up, so Cameron had the house all to himself.

Making the relatively short drive from back to his house, Cameron began to think of all the things he hasn't already done. His party wasn't until Friday, he broke practically every rule that didn't involve breaking something, and he blasted his music to its maximum volume.

Then something brought him out of his reverie. Behind him no less than six police cars were racing closer and closer to him. Slowing down and pulling to this side, Cameron witnessed them simply speed on farther north, sirens blaring.

He was about to put it out of his mind when two ambulances and a fire truck soon followed the police cars. _What the hell happened?_ Cameron lived not too far south of Chicago, so he could only imagine that the emergency vehicles were heading downtown.

Cameron eventually turned off from the main road into his street and parked on the curb. After letting himself in the house, Cameron tossed his backpack on the couch and turned on the TV. He tuned to FOX to see that they were in the middle of an emergency broadcast.

"—complete pandemonium," the reporter said, his back to a police barricade. "People are scared, emergency services are overwhelmed, and nothing seems to be able to stop this." He looked away from the camera at someone, and then said, "We're being told that we need to back away. I'll be back on air in a few minutes."

A chime sounded from his pocket, and Cameron flipped open his cell phone to see a text message from Mike: "Go on."

Sighing, Cameron turned off the TV and went to his room. This was another reason that he was glad his parents weren't around. Normally, when Cameron brought home a bad grade, they'd remove the hard drive from his Xbox.

Signing into Xbox Live, Cameron saw that Mike was already in Halo 3, so he popped in his copy and soon joined Mike's party.

"You hear about the crazy shit going on?" Mike immediately asked as they went into matchmaking.

"Yeah," Cameron responded. "That must have been where all those cops I saw were going. Think its terrorists?"

"Hell if I know."

That was the end of the conversation as they were put into a match. Five minutes later Cameron found himself in the ass end of an ass kicking. That's what he hated about playing sometimes. A lot of people are so damn obsessed with the game that you don't stand a chance. Cameron virtually gave up on ranking up.

"Shit!" he yelled in frustration, being killed less than twenty seconds after spawning.

The game ended with a final score of 35-50.

"We'll win the next game," Mike said with assurance.

"Hey," Cameron suddenly said, "doesn't your mom work downtown?"

"Yeah I called her," he answered. "She said that whatever is going on is happening far enough away from her."

"That's good," said Cameron, the conversation ending again when they found another match. Then both Cameron and Mike burst out laughing.

"pwnmaster67!" Mike blurted out, laughing uncontrollably.

Cameron was laughing just as hard, banging his knees and trying to get his breath back. "That's one of the stupidest names I've ever seen!" he said. "Get a life, little kid." Only a ten-year-old would have such a stupid name. Cameron almost felt sorry for the guest that had to play under the same stupid name.

"Shut up," what was undoubtedly a little kid's voice said over the headset. "What?" the kid said to someone one his side. There was the sound of the headset being moved and then silence.

"Hey, the game is starting!" Mike protested. But too late, the people on the other side left.

And so the game started with Cameron and Mike's two teammates standing around, just waiting to be killed. What made it even worse was that they were once again getting their asses handed to them. The other team moved with such precision that there was no way they had lives outside of Halo.

Less than five minutes later Cameron was already six kills away from losing.

"Hello?" a timid voice said over the headset.

"About fucking time!" Cameron exclaimed, barely registering that it was a different voice from before. "You might as well get some kills in before we lose."

"Help," the person on the other side said.

"You need help with a retarded name like pwnmaster67," Mike replied angrily. "Fuck!" They were now five kills away from losing.

"She got him," the voice said.

That caused Cameron to raise an eyebrow. "Who got who?"

"My friend was attacked by his mom."

"And why would she do that?" Mike asked skeptically.

"I don't know," he answered, sobbing. "She came home scared saying we had to leave somewhere…. Then she got sick, fell down, and got back up…then—then she got him." The kid went on sobbing.

"Bullshit," Mike said.

"NO!" the kid yelled. "Then he got up too, and the two of them tried to get me—so I locked myself in this room!"

"RAPE!"

"Rapeage!"

"You guys suck!"

Cameron just ignored them and pressed the X button to party up with pwnmaster67. Whether or not his story was true, something was obviously wrong. Nobody with any dignity would cry over Xbox Live.

"So what exactly happened again?" asked Cameron when they left the matchmaking lobby.

"My friend and his mom are outside my door, trying to get in, so they can get me!" the kid screamed. "I need help!"

"Well where do you live?" Mike asked, obviously playing along.

"Buffalo."

"Well then you're boned," Mike replied casually.

"Do you have a cell phone?" Cameron asked. The kid made a sound of acknowledgement. "Then call the cops."

"Okay." There was silence for a minute.

"C'mon, Cam, why are you going along with this?"

"He's obviously in some kind of trouble. I'm just trying to—"

"They aren't answering!" the kid said. "There's only a busy signal."

"Let's see if I can do something," Cameron said, taking his cell phone out. Hoping to be able to get through to the Buffalo PD or something, he dialed 911.

There was only a busy signal that caused a shiver to travel up and down Cameron's back.

"I'm…I'm not getting through," Cameron said, mystified.

"Really?" Mike asked, sounding perked up and falling silent for a few seconds. "Holy shit, me neither."

Right on cue, outside Cameron heard the screeching of tires and a crash.


	2. Knocking on the Front Door

"What was that?" Mike asked.

Peeking through his blinds, he saw to his horror that a cop car crashed into his tree. There was steam rising from the hood, the sirens were still flashing, and the driver looked unconscious.

"I'll be right back," Cameron said quickly.

"Don't leave!" the kid pleaded.

"Mike stay with him," he ordered. Ripping off his headset, Cameron bolted out of the house. Once outside he saw many on lookers coming closer.

"Call an ambulance!" someone shouted. But there were already about four people on their cell phones…all of whom looked to have gotten a busy signal.

No one seemed to know what to do, so Cameron decided to take charge and opened the car door. Another person came forward and helped Cameron lay the cop on the ground. He looked like hell: there was a gash across his forehead, his right arm was in tatters, and it turned out that he was just barely conscious.

"Let's get him inside." Grabbing the cop by the pits, and the helper getting the ankles, together they carried the cop inside Cameron's house and onto the couch.

"I'll try to get a doctor," the helper said, running back outside.

Cameron decided to take a closer look at the man bleeding on his couch. From the extent of the injuries, the cop must've had some internal bleeding, which appeared more certain when the he started looking pale and his breathing became labored.

"You okay?" Cameron asked, kneeling next to him.

The cop mumbled. "Wh—where am I?"

"Homewood."

"I got that far?" he asked weakly.

"Where'd you come from?"

"Downtown."

"What the fuck is going on?" Cameron said, perplexed.

"People…people are going crazy," the cop answered. "They can't be stopped…even after opening fire."

"You shot at people!" Cameron exclaimed, even more freaked out.

The cop tried to sit up, but Cameron kept him down. "Listen, we've got to get outta here. Have a car?"

"I'm not just gonna run away until I know what's going on! Hell, I'm talking to someone online, and he says that there's shit going down in Buffalo!" Cameron told him.

"What!" he yelled, causing himself more pain. "Let me talk to this person."

"It's upstairs."

"Then carry me!"

Not knowing what else to do, Cameron took the cop's good left arm and heaved him up. He really didn't think that the cop should be moving in his condition, but what choice did he have?

Upon entering his room, Cameron sat the cop on his bed and put his headset on. "Hello?"

"Jesus, Cam, what took so long?"

"A cop came knocking. Pwnmaster—"

"My name's Joey!" the kid declared.

"Fine, Joey, this man here wants to talk to you." Cameron handed the headset to the cop, who put it over his ear.

"Can you kindly explain to me what's going on?" The cop listened intently for a minute or two, his face growing in anguish. Finally, he said, "God dammit…that's exactly what I saw happening over here."

"Really?" Cameron asked, his voice cracking badly.

"We need to find somewhere safe," the cop said firmly, trying to stand.

"You can barely move," Cameron told him, feeling numb. But the cop wasn't able to get on his feet before doubling over in pain. "See, you probably have some broken ribs, too."

"It's not that," he grunted, sweating profusely. "It's as if…" The cop quieted down before vomiting blood.

"Holy fuck!" Cameron screamed, putting as much distance between him and cop.

The cop slowly exhaled as he collapsed off the bed onto the puddle his own of sick, and lay still.

Cameron's cell phone then chimed again, so he flipped it open with shaky hands to see another text from Mike: "wtf happened?"

Throwing on the headset, he screamed in panic, "The cop's dead!"

"What!" Mike asked, confused. "How?"

"I don't know! He just got sick and fell over!"

"Run!" Joey told him. "That's what happened here! He might try to get you!"

"I seriously doubt that. He looks pretty dead to—" He stopped when he heard a moaning sound. Turning around slowly, Cameron saw the cop stir and try to get to his feet. "You okay?"

"Run!" Joey repeated.

When the cop was standing again, he slowly turned around, and Cameron knew that everything was completely wrong. The cop was paler than ever, with pale eyes, and a lifeless expression…that is until the cop let out a screech that could only have come from hell itself, and lunged after Cameron.

Only on pure instinct did Cameron raise his arms and catch the crazed cop at the throat. Cameron was slammed against the wall, but was able to keep his elbows locked to keep the cop back. Snarling and chomping, the cop flailed his arms wildly in front of him trying to get a hold on Cameron, who looked on in horror.

The cop kept trying to get closer; trying to take a bite out of Cameron like a wild monster. But he kept his fingers deep in the thing's throat, not allowing him move. All the while, Cameron was sprayed with the spit from the intense chomping. It made him sick.

"Get off!" he shouted angrily. "GET! THE! FUCK! OFF!" Getting his leg in the correct position, Cameron was able to swing his right leg straight up, kicking the cop in the groin.

But it didn't do anything! Cameron tried again, and again, but the cop was relentless. If anything, that only made Cameron more afraid. Was the guy a eunuch? What kind of man could ignore the pain?

"Cam!" Mike yelled, through the headset he still had on. "Cam, what's happening?"

"Stop!" Cameron tried kicking again. "Being!" Another kick. "An asshole!" One last kick.

Losing his footing, Cameron then started to slide down the wall, putting more and more weight on his arms. The cop began biting more desperately, now clawing at Cameron's forearms, apparently knowing that a meal was close at hand.

When he reached a sitting position, Cameron knew that he wouldn't last much longer—that he would lose his strength and the cop would soon feast. All of his thoughts went to the switchblade that he kept hidden in his sock drawer. If he could only get to it…

Raising his leg once more, this time Cameron was able to plant in foot in the middle of the cop's chest. With one mammoth effort, he kicked the cop away.

But that only caused the cop to stumble back a few steps. Before he allowed him to get back his footing, Cameron used his other leg knock the feet right out from under the cop. And without wasting any precious time, Cameron stood up and stomped down on the man's neck. He felt as the trachea gave away, but the cop still went on thrashing, still hungry for Cameron.

At that point Cameron no longer saw the cop as a human, but as a monster that needed to be destroyed. It didn't matter what kind of person he once was, whether or not he had a family, this thing had to be put down for good.

Reaching over to his sock drawer without taking any weight off his foot, Cameron opened it, and dug through it until he found his switchblade. His parents didn't know he owned one, but Cameron had always wanted one just incase—though he never imagined using it like this.

Cameron released the blade and took his foot off at the same time. Just as he thought, the cop lunged upward, so Cameron stabbed down. The cop's upward momentum and blade's downward motion allowed it to easily penetrate the cop's skull.

The cop stopped in his tracks, and Cameron wiggled the knife around a little just to make sure before pulling out. The thing that used to be the law enforcement officer then fell over and moved no more. With the experience now over, it flooded over Cameron all at once, causing him to vomit…. He was just thankful to see no blood in it.

That kill would be the first of many.


	3. The Runaway

Still numb, Cameron mindlessly wiped the blood and brain off his knife on the dead cop's uniform. "Joey," he said, his voice hollow.

"Yeah," he answered, sounding scared.

"Can you climb out a window or something?"

"No, I'm on the fourth floor," he said, sounding even more upset when he realized this fact.

"Call whoever you can for help," Cameron told him, closing his blade and sticking it in his pocket. "But if they come to you, make sure to tell them to bring weapons…. Those things outside your door aren't the people you know anymore."

"What're you talking about, Cam?" Mike asked.

"When the cop got back up, it was kill or be killed, Mike."

"ARE YOU SAYING YOU KILLED THE COP?" Mike exclaimed sounding horrified. "Stop fucking around!"

"I'm not."

"Well whatever the hell your reasoning was, you have got to get outta town!"

Cameron went back to his window and opened the blinds. Looking towards the main road, he was horrified to see people running every which way. One, a particularly bloody and mangled man, ran straight for one of Cameron's neighbors. He almost vomited again as Cameron witnessed the monster grab his neighbor's arm and bite down on it.

"Fuck me," he croaked, on the verge of tears as he stumbled back. "This shit is spreading."

"Spreading?" said Mike, confused.

"There are more of the things the cop turned into outside my house!"

"I don't see any."

"Well you will, Mike! We have to get out town before we're overrun."

"What about me?" Joey asked desperately.

"I'm so sorry Joey, I can't do anything for you. All you can do is keep calling for help."

"But—"

"I'm sorry!" As he said it, Cameron grabbed his controller and pressed the B button to leave the party. He then took out his cell phone and called Mike.

"Why did you leave?" Mike immediately asked.

"Because there's nothing we can do for him, and we have to leave," he promptly answered. "Look, meet me at…at—shit!" Cameron paused for a second and tried to think. "Just meet me at the old man's place."

"What? Cam—" Cameron hung up on him.

He then took one more look at his TV and decided. Cameron selected everyone on his friends list and his most recent players list, and composed a voice message: "If at the time you get this, you still don't know what's happening…you will soon. Arm yourselves and run. Please." He sent the message and turned off his Xbox.

At that moment Cameron went into autopilot. Grabbing his backpack, he zipped it open to empty it of its contents. From there he went to the kitchen and began stuffing all he could into it: bread, cereal, cans—nothing that needed refrigeration. He tried his best to tune out the sounds of cars zooming past the house, crashes, and screams of terrors.

When nothing else would fit in his backpack, Cameron tried to think of anything else he needed. Outside his window he saw to his horror as three monsters were feasting on his lawn. That, along with how hard his first kill just was, meant that needed a better weapon.

Without a second thought, Cameron went back up to his room and removed the cop's gun from his holster. He then remembered that the cop had opened fire earlier. Being careful not to set it off, he examined the gun and ejected the clip. "Dammit!" There were only six bullets. Upon further inspection of the body, Cameron was able to find one more clip. And before leaving his room Cameron took his cell phone charger.

Believing himself prepared, Cameron went to the key rack and grabbed, much to his dismay, the keys to his parent's new Honda in the garage. He was forbidden from driving it, so Cameron had no experience behind the wheel. It crossed his mind to make a dash for the Toyota, but he had no confidence in his aim or speed.

With no other choice, Cameron entered his garage, got into the drivers seat of the Honda after tossing his things in the back, and pushed the button to open the garage door. The gun was pressing into his back, so he put it on the cup holder for easy access. As the garage door rattled open, Cameron instantly realized how stupid he was.

The noise obviously got the attention of those things outside, and a small horde of them started banging on the door as it went up. Nausea washed all over him again as the monsters ducked under the door the first chance they got. Cameron got an up close look at them as they started to beat their fists on the window, teeth gnawing at him, eyes pale, and howling loudly.

Without hesitation Cameron shifted into reverse, and pressed hard on the accelerator. The ones behind him were knocked back, and he ran a couple over as he exited the driveway. What made it worse was that he recognized a couple of them. Upon getting on the road, he shifted to drive, and pressed the accelerator once more as a girl that Cameron used have a crush on left a bloody smear on his windshield.

When Cameron made a left on the main road, he began to focus his thoughts. He had told Mike to meet him at the old man's place. That referred to a farm that a friend of theirs owned a couple of miles south, so Cameron was already headed in the right direction.

Now all he had to do was navigate his way through the suburbs, which may have sounded like a pleasant drive any other day, but not today. Cameron wasn't the only one that was making a run for it. Cars kept on racing past him in an attempt to escape. Those monsters were still running around and chasing down people.

More than once Cameron had to brake and swerve out of the way as a car came peeling out of an infested neighborhood. Some even crashed into other cars, screwing over all the occupants in the process. There were even more accidents when drivers completely ignored a red light. Almost every intersection Cameron passed there was a wreck, with those monsters swarming around it. Cameron had to be very careful. At each intersection he slowed down to make sure no came speeding by and went on (green light or not).

Finally Cameron reached a less populated area. By no means did he think he was out of danger, but it was a start. Instead of taking the usual route to the old man's place, he made a detour. The road that he was on would have taken him through a small population center, but it was still a population center.

Cameron started to ease up a little bit, and that was when tears started forming. It was horrible. In just half an hour the world that Cameron had grown up in had gone up in flames. The area that once he considered his backyard was now alien. And all of a sudden he began to feel the drawback of driving the Honda. Yes, it was a nice car, better than his car, but it wasn't _his_ car. The braking felt too sensitive, and the accelerator took too much weight to press.

He now had to take even more care while driving.

Finally Cameron reached the farm, and began pulling up on the driveway. And when he parked in front of the house he saw as the old man came out, aiming a rifle in Cameron's direction.


	4. Eli

"This is private property," the old man yelled out. "You aren't welcome, so get out."

Cameron opened the door and stepped out with his arms in the air. "Just me, Eli," he assured him.

"Cameron?" he asked, bewildered, lowering his rifle a bit. "What're you doing driving that?"

"Couldn't get to my car," Cameron answered.

The old man raised his rifle back up. "Take off your shirt and pants. I need to make sure you weren't bit." Cameron knew that he was dead serious, so he had no choice but to comply. "What's that on your arm?"

Looking at his forearms, he was surprised to see the scratch marks left by that cop. He was so focused on escape he didn't give any injuries a second thought. "Just some scratches, don't worry."

"Come on in," he sighed, finally lowering his weapon and allowing Cameron to get dressed.

As Cameron followed he felt his cell phone vibrate. Expecting Mike, he answered, "Yeah?"

"Cameron? Cameron, honey? You all right?" his mother asked desperately.

"Mom!" he shouted, almost dropping the phone in surprise, "Damn! Yeah, yeah I'm safe."

"Oh my god," she said hysterically. "Your dad and I are watching the news. They're saying riots are breaking out across all major cities."

"Yeah," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "I saw that too."

"Look, you need to get out of there. Take our car, and use our credit cards until—"

"I already did that, mom," Cameron assured her. "Things got crazy back at home, so I packed up and left." Just how crazy, Cameron would not tell her. "I'm at Eli's right now."

"Lord," she said, and Cameron knew that she was tearing up on the other side. "We'll be back on the next flight back home, so—"

"NO!" Cameron yelled forcefully. "No, mom! You and dad stay there!"

"Cameron—!"

"NO!" he repeated, in a way that he ever dared speak before. "YOU. STAY. THERE!"

"Don't order me around like that."

"Or what, mom, you'll ground me? Besides, I doubt that airports are gonna be running much longer."

"Dammit!" said his dad's voice. "The island's just been quarantined."

Cameron breathed a sight of relief. "I'll call tonight. I love you both."

"No but—"

Cameron hung up on her.

"Your parents okay?" Eli asked when Cameron entered the house.

"Yeah," he answered.

Eli handed him a glass on ginger ale, and they took a seat in the living room. In it hung various photos of family, baseball memorabilia, and photos of the family at Wrigley Field. He was a Cubs fanatic, and Cameron almost felt sorry that Eli never got to see them win a World Series. After Eli's wife died and his children grew up, Eli decided to take up little league coaching. That was where Cameron and Mike met him. They really got along during little league, and when they were old enough he offered them summer jobs working on his farm.

Even during the school year the old man's place was somewhere that Cameron and Mike could chill almost whenever they wanted.

"So what brings you here?" Eli asked, keeping his rifle next to his seat (it seemed rather precautionary).

Cameron rolled his eyes. "The same reason you just pointed a gun at me. Those fuckers overran my neighborhood. I had to get out. What do you think is happening?"

Eli snorted. "You're asking me? It's like something out of a bad horror movie." It was then and there that Cameron realized how lucky he was. In those bad horror movies if the main character had to get out, he or she normally wouldn't have the luxury of packing like Cameron had.

"Fuck," Cameron sighed. "The CDC, army, or whoever better take care of this."

"'Til then what're you gonna do?"

"Maybe I can stay here for a while?" he said hopefully.

Eli covered his mouth and groaned in frustration. "Fine, if it's just you then I guess it's okay."

"Well Mike should get here too."

"Of course," he grumbled. "Even during a pandemic you two are joined at the hip."

A minute later Cameron heard the crunching of gravel out front. Eli grabbed his gun as he went out, and Cameron was right behind him. After Mike's car came to a stop, the driver door flew open and Mike stumbled out.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," he kept on repeating his breathing labored, his hands on his knees. "They just came out of nowhere." Mike looked up at them with fear in his eyes. "I barely made it out."

"Sorry, Mike, but take off your shirt and pants," Eli ordered, aiming the gun at him.

Mike was shocked and looked at Cameron for help, but he just shrugged in a get-it-over-with kind of way. Thankfully Mike was also pronounced clean.

When they got inside, Mike got his own glass of ginger ale (he asked for whiskey, only getting a stern look from the old man), and recounted his experience. It was mostly a carbon copy of Cameron's flight; except that Mike drove a car he was familiar with.

"This is all kinds of fucked up," he stammered after finishing. "My mom even called me. She said that those things were closing in on her building, and they all had to evacuate. I told her to come here."

"What!" Eli shouted, standing up. "God dammit! This isn't some fortress! Even I don't know how long I can hold out here, let alone with more people."

"Shit, Eli, sorry to think that we could count on you," Cameron admonished.

"Okay, that was over the top," he admitted, hands up in self-defense. "How about we figure all this out when Mike's mother gets here. 'Til then we'll keep an eye on the news."

And that they did. Over the next half hour they heard reports coming from other major cities around the world. London, Moscow, Paris, and even as far away as Tokyo they were seeing images of mass hysteria. More than once they saw a reporter out in the field, when out of nowhere a monster leaps into the shot to devour the newsperson.

"Oh god," the anchor would always say when they cut back to the studio. This time it was a black anchorwoman. She was shivering, her hair was disheveled, and she struggled to talk. "Well we hope here that Hank is alright. Let's take a break." The network cut to commercial.

A sudden chime came from Mike's pocket. "Hello," Mike said, answering his cell phone. "Okay. See you soon." He hung up. "We need bandages."

"Why?" Cameron and Eli asked at the same time in the same cautious tone.

"My mom's bringing someone from work, and he needs some medicine."

"Okay, go get some. I'll meet your mom outside so I can help."

Mike went to where all the first aid stuff was (he knew from their time working on the farm), and Cameron followed Eli outside.

"Thinking what I'm thinking?" Cameron asked.

"Yup," he said, grabbing his gun.

A minute later Mike's mom's car pulled up.

"Mom!" Mike shouted, coming out of the house with bandages.

"Oh my god," his mom cried in relief as she came out of the car to hug her son.

Cameron saw as the passenger door open, and a young, redheaded woman stepped out. She looked like she was in a state of shock. The woman proceeded to sit on the ground, hugging her knees.

"We need to help Gus," Mrs. Gibbons said, opening the backseat. She reached in and carefully pulled out a sickly looking man. He was pale with labored breathing, and, worst of all, a bite mark on his forearm.

When the man was laid on the ground, Mike poured from antiseptic on the wound and wrapped it up.

"We were evacuated too late," she proceeded to explain. "The three of us were going to my car when these rabid people got into the parking garage. One of them bit Gus, we managed to beat it off, and we just kept on running."

"Well I'm sorry to say, Mrs. Gibbons, but your friend here's infected now," Cameron said to her.

"I guess he's under the weather since then, but he just needs some medicine."

"We don't know if there is," Eli told her. "We've been watching the news and nobody seems to have a cure for this."

"So what does that mean?"

"It means that he's gonna turn into one of them."

She looked at Cameron. "What?"

"I saw it happen earlier. A person had just escaped that mess, but he was bit and turned rabid right in front of me," Cameron explained.

The man grunted in pain.

"He looks even worse, mom," Mike said, backing off a bit.

The breathing became more labored, until he vomited up a small fountain of blood, and the breathing stopped completely.

"Gus!" Mrs. Gibbons cried in horror. She rushed over to kneel next to the body, but Cameron knew first hand the danger in that.

"No!" Without hesitation, Cameron ran up and grabbed Mrs. Gibbons under her arms to try and drag her away.

But it was too late. Gus reanimated, let out a howl, and grabbed Mrs. Gibbon's leg.

"No you don't!" Eli shouted. He stomped down on the man's chest, aimed the rifle down, and pulled the trigger. Blood and brain splattered all over the ground.


	5. Tag Along

"Eli!" Mrs. Gibbons said, shocked and appalled at the scene that just transpired. Her hands were clasped together in a vain attempt to stop them from shaking, she was pale as a ghost, and her eyes were set on Eli. "Why?"

"He was dangerous."

"Didn't you see how he grabbed you?" Cameron said.

"We could've just held him down—waited for a cure!" Mrs. Gibbons shouted.

"We don't _know_ if there's a cure!" Cameron retorted.

"That's no excuse!"

"Mrs. Gibbons," he said, raising his voice at her for the first time, "it was a cop that came to my door. He was bit, died, and went ape shit trying to eat me. This guy here was bit, died, and went ape shit trying to eat _you_! If _we_ are bit, then _we'll_ die, and _we'll_ turn into them."

"Mike, let's go," she suddenly said, looking at Cameron with a look of surprise and disappointment.

Mike, who had been staring, dumbfounded at the dead body, said, "Huh?"

"I said let's go!"

There were suddenly two more sounds of gunfire. Cameron looked to see Eli lowering his rifle once more, then to the end of the driveway where two fresh bodies lay.

"Did any of those things follow you here?" Eli asked urgently.

"Mike get in the car now!" Mrs. Gibbons demanded, getting into the driver's seat of her car. "You're crazy," she said to Eli. "Expect the police to get here soon. And you, Cameron, how can you support this?"

He ignored her. "Call me when you get somewhere safe," Cameron told Mike, patting his shoulder. Cameron should have been arguing with Mrs. Gibbons, telling her that she was done for if she didn't treat the pandemic like the apocalypse. But he's known her for years, and knew she wouldn't listen to reason—if that's you'd call it.

In all honestly best thing for her and Mike to do was to keep on moving. "And if you need to kill one of those things _kill it_!" he hissed at Mike.

"Yeah…yeah," he said, getting into the car after his mom honked the horn.

"I never had the heart to tell Mike what a stubborn bitch his mother was," Eli said lazily as he watched the car back off the driveway.

"He always knew," Cameron reassured him.

As the car got on the street and stopped to shift to drive, Cameron saw a bunch of those rabid people come running down the street. The few that made it to the car were only able to scrape and bang against it before the car took off speeding.

The majority of the monsters kept on running after it, bypassing the farm, but a few noticed the people standing out in the open, let out a carnivorous roar, and ran after them.

"Shit!" Eli shouted raising his rifle again. Thankfully he had a long driveway, so it was virtually no problem picking each of them off with a clean headshot.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. "The neighboring towns around here must've been infected."

"Well we need to get out."

"I told you Cameron I'm holding out here."

"That's suicide!" Cameron said, thinking that the idea of staying here was more insane than killing something that used to be human.

"If any of my kids wanna try and find me they'll know where I am!" Eli said sternly.

"Fine, but I'm going."

"Have any weapons?"

"Just a pistol I got from the dead cop. I barely have any rounds."

Eli wiped his mouth in thought and concern, looking back at the road. "Take some tools from the back of my pickup. Some may come in handy."

Cameron did so without hesitation. The pickup was filled with a bunch of farming equipment that Cameron was used to working with, but nothing that would be too useful. In the end he decided on the shovel.

"Good luck, Eli," he told him as Cameron marched to his car.

"What about her?" Eli suddenly asked.

"Who?"

Eli pointed at the redhead that come with Mrs. Gibbons. Cameron had completely forgotten all about her. With all of the excitement of that Gus person being infected she fell out of everyone's minds—Mrs. Gibbons too. Now the woman was just staring out at the road, still in shock.

"You okay?" Cameron asked, shaking her. She didn't respond.

"Hey, lady, if you wanna survive then get up," Eli said. Still she said nothing.

"Looks like she's in your care now," Cameron said, going to his car and throwing the shovel in the back with his provisions.

"No way am I taking care of a vegetable," Eli said without argument. "And if I just leave her out here then she'll attract more of 'em."

Cameron turned back to look at them. "So what do you intend—?" Eli walked behind the woman and pointed his rifle at the back of her head. "You're fucking kidding." Eli's finger went from the trigger guard to the trigger. Cameron was amazed. He knew Eli was a tough old bastard, but Cameron didn't know he was capable of such a thing. Still, he didn't think it was a bluff. "Lady, you're coming with me."

Cameron went over the redhead, grabbed her arm, and forced her to the car. She didn't say a thing even as he practically threw her in the passenger seat.

"Gee, thanks a lot, Eli."

"Good luck."

Shaking his head, he waved and said, "You too."

Starting his car, Cameron looked in his rearview mirror to see a few more of the things appear from the street. They quickly went down thanks to Eli's shooting, and Cameron shifted into reverse. On his way to the road he ran over two dead bodies. Shifting into drive, Cameron drove west.

And drive he did. For the next ten or so miles all Cameron did was drive west. He passed I-57, which he wanted to hop on, but there was no on ramp that he could see. Cameron would've liked to follow it south to find a way on, but he wanted to stay away population centers.

"STOP!" the woman yelled out of nowhere, suddenly clasping his arm.

That caught him so off guard that he instantly slammed on the brakes. The car came to a screeching halt leaving a trail of smoke behind him. The woman was now in tears, biting down hard on the palm of her free hand.

"What?" Cameron finally asked, pulling his arm free.

But she didn't answer. Instead her eyes fell on the LCD system mounted on the car's dashboard. The woman then brought up the GPS, punched in a location, and the GPS found the place she was looking for.

"There," she pleaded, pointing at the map. "Please, we have to go there!"

Cameron looked at it and said, "Are you crazy? That's near the city. No way I'm going there!"

"That's my son's daycare," she cried, more tears flowing out. "I have to go and get him."

"But—"

"I need to get him!" she screamed.

"Look," he said, trying to be rational in such an irrational world, "your office was evacuated, so that might mean so was that daycare."

"That's no guarantee!"

"Then how about we go to the nearest army outpost first, I'm sure they can—"

Evidently having heard enough, the woman grabbed the gun that was still sitting in the cup holder and pointed it right at Cameron's face. It was shaking in her hands, but her face was set.

"We are going to get my son."

Cameron saw that nothing short of death was going to stop her, and that was understandable. If it were his kid then he'd do the exact same thing. But that didn't make things any more pleasant.

Exhaling, he said, "Fuck." Cameron grabbed the gun out of the woman's hands and turned off the safety. "Okay, lady, if any of those things get close to us, you shoot it in the head, got it?" he asked, handing the gun back.

"Yes," she answered. "I'm Marge."

"Cameron."

Following the GPS directions, Cameron began driving towards the suicide mission. _Thanks a lot, Eli_.


	6. The Daycare

The farther Cameron followed the GPS the stronger was his desire to get out of Dodge City. But instead of being smart and getting the hell away, which every other car on the other side of the road was doing, he was doing the opposite. Next to him the woman named Marge had her face set, prepared to die for the sake of rescuing her son.

The closer they got, the more of the walking—mostly running, actually—dead began to appear. They were mostly clustered in or around wrecked cars, and those that were out and abound just flung themselves in the direction of passing cars, because barely no living person was out in the open and on foot. More than one saw Cameron approaching, ran at him, and only managed to get hit by the car.

"This is retarded," he kept muttering under his breath.

Cameron's point was proved when they passed by a school, and every zombie ambling around on the parking lot noticed him and ran in his direction like a tidal wave. It was made even worse when even more of them burst through the school's front doors.

"Fuck my life!" Cameron screamed, stepping on the accelerator.

A group of the things ran onto the street and bunched up in front of him. Having no other choice Cameron shut his eyes and drove right into them. A few toppled over his car, hearing his windshield crack in the process, and he felt even more being run over. Upon opening his eyes he had to turn on the wipers to clean off some of the blood.

"Turn left onto Lindenwood Dr., then keep left," the car's GPS instructed as if nothing was happening.

"Shit," he cursed, making a sharp turn. Behind them the wave of creatures disappeared from view for the moment.

"We're almost there," Marge said happily and anxiously.

A few more turns and the daycare appeared on their right. "You have arrived."

"God dammit," Cameron said in dismay.

"No!" Marge squealed, tearing up.

In front of the daycare dozens of the monsters were banging against the front doors and the windows. The parking lot was filled with cars possibly belonging to fearing parents that were coming to get their kids. Some of the cars even had people in them—both zombie and human. It also looked like every zombie in the area accumulated at the daycare because no more were showing up.

"We need to get outta here," Cameron told her softly.

"No," she answered.

"There's no use!"

"We didn't come here for nothing!"

"Then what the hell do we do?" Cameron screamed. He realized how loud he was yelling and was instantly afraid that he caught the attention of those things. But they were all focused on getting into the daycare, which at least meant people were alive in there.

"We distract them," Marge started, thinking hard. "Then lead them away from here to give those inside a chance."

"And how do we do that?"

Without answering, Marge rolled down the power window and pointed the gun into the mass of the undead. "HEY ASSHOLES!" she yelled, and emptied what was left of the clip. That got the attention of every monster in sight. "Drive!" she told Cameron.

Cameron slammed on the accelerator without hesitation.

As planned every single one of the things chased after them. He drove fast, but not fast enough to lose them. But what was worse was that they were attracting even more of them from neighboring streets.

"Okay this should be enough," she said after about a mile.

So Cameron made an immediate U turn in the middle of the street to face the horde running at them. In all his eighteen years, Cameron couldn't think of anything as reckless as what he was about to do.

"You better pray," he instructed before going full speed at the horde.

The car rammed right into them, and for a split second Cameron feared that they would come to stop. Thankfully they kept on going. But it was sickening. As they moved through the sea of the dead Cameron saw nothing but mutilated corpses. Some it seemed just got a bite to get infected, while others had half their faces ripped off. The car ran over body after body, dozens more were slammed to the side, and the right side mirror snapped off.

When they finally made it though Cameron speeded right back to the daycare, praying that it was zombie free. They only had a few minutes at best before the horde caught back up with them.

"Reload the gun," he ordered, taking the full clip from his pocket. It took Marge a second to figure it out, but she managed to do it.

Back at the daycare the parking lot was blessedly empty except for the few zombies inside cars.

"Keep ready," Cameron advised, taking the shovel he had in the back and getting out of the car. Marge was right behind him sweeping the gun in all directions.

They slowly made their way in towards the entrance. The monsters in the cars went ape shit as they passed but Cameron ignored them.

"Open up!" Marge shouted, banging the door. "It's Margaret Prince!"

It wasn't long before the front door opened slowly.

"Marge!" the woman who opened the door gasped. "What happened?" Inside Cameron saw a group of little kids all massed in the center of the room. Each and every one of them was scared and crying for their parents.

"Get the kids, the bus, and get the fuck out of here, Sandra!" Marge yelled. "Where's Jack?"

"Mommy!"

A little kid burst from the mass, ran through the door, and into his mother's arms.

"They'll be back soon," Marge told the woman, picking up her kid. "You need to get out now!"

Not saying another word she turned around and ran back to the Honda.

The woman named Sandra looked at Cameron, but he only said, "She's right, you need to get the hell out now." Then he went back to the car too.

Marge was in the back seat of the Honda with her son as Cameron got back behind the wheel. Outside Cameron noticed Sandra ushering all the children outside and onto the bus. Sadly, a few of the kids broke from the line to cars they must have been theirs, only to be hauled back screaming by the daycare teachers. _God help them_, he thought, turning the key. He wanted to help them, he really did, but Cameron just didn't see how.

He drove in the direction opposite from the horde of zombies that were still approaching, doing his best to avoid any stragglers. It was only now that he realized that he had no actual plan of escape—at least he didn't until he spotted a sign pointing towards I-80. Seeing no other option he gunned for that direction on took the onramp for the westbound side.

But as soon as he found himself on the highway Cameron regretted his decision.


	7. Pit Stop

"Sonuvabitch!" Cameron shouted as he swerved everywhere he could to avoid crashing into other cars.

"Did you seriously take us on the highway?" Marge screamed from the back seat. "How stupid can you be?"

"Well sorry for wanting to get out of here as fast as possible!" he yelled, having to slam the brakes, and barely dodging an oncoming car. _Fucking asshole!_

It was complete chaos. Not only was the highway jammed with cars that were both running and crashed, but also people (alive and dead) were running every which way. Cameron really wanted to avoid hitting anybody alive, but it was difficult to tell one from the other. It also didn't help that people were trying to get in front of him, desperately waving him down.

But there was no way. Not only would his car most likely get overrun by zombies, other desperate survivors would try to hop on too.

"Out of the way," he snarled, honking his horn. In the back Marge was comforting her crying son.

Then up ahead appeared what looked like a wall of cars. No less than twenty were piled up end to end, leaving no room for Cameron to squeeze through. But all was not lost: in the lane divide, splitting up west and eastbound traffic, he spotted a gap that was only supposed to be used by emergency personnel.

_Well fuck that!_

Cameron slammed on the brakes, and made a sharp left turn through the gap. He turned right, now driving on the wrong side of the highway, which actually turned out to be a blessing. There were only a few cars that were foolhardy enough to venture into the city, and all Cameron had to do was stay on the shoulder to avoid incoming traffic.

In his pocket Cameron's cell phone vibrated again. He ignored it. It took every ounce of concentration to avoid hitting people that hopped over the lane divide and try to desperately wave him down. The vibrating stopped, but a few seconds later it started up again. "Fuck!" Cameron quickly dug into his pocket and threw the phone in the back to Marge. "Tell whoever the hell that is I'm driving!"

"Hello?" she answered. "I'm a friend. Cameron's driving trying to get out of the city…. Yes, but we had to go back—to get my son!" Cameron ran into a zombie that ended up under the wheels. "Your mom wants you to call her back," Marge told him.

A few minutes later the surrounding area had less development, and the cars began to thin out some. That didn't mean they were in the clear though. Cars were still crashed all over, with zombies and/or people running around. Still, he felt it was clear enough to go through the next gap in the divider, just because he felt more comfortable on the right side of the highway.

When Cameron passed through a stretch of highway that was miraculously empty, he pulled off to the side. In the rearview mirror he saw smoke billowing up to the sky, and on the road tiny figures were gradually getting bigger. Zombies were following them but they wouldn't reach them for a few minutes.

"What do we do?" Marge asked, poking her head to the front.

He sighed as he spotted the fuel gauge. "Get gas." Cameron went to the GPS to find the nearest gas station.

Two minutes later Cameron pulled off on the next exit. A mile or so later he found the gas station. It was peaceful at the station, which most likely meant that the infection didn't reach there yet.

"Keep me covered," Cameron told Marge as he got out of the car. So while Cameron filled up the gas tank, Marge kept an eye out with the gun at the ready. Inside the shop he saw that the gas station attendant was nervously looking at them.

When Cameron was finished, he moved the car next to the shop.

"Grab everything you can," he said. Cameron's provisions would only last him day or two now that he had picked up stragglers, so it was time to do some shopping.

"Stay here, sweetie," Marge said to her son.

"No, mommy," he pleaded, but he resigned to staying in the car.

"I don't want any trouble," the station attendant told them, raising his hands.

"Sorry," Marge said, sticking the run in her pocket. Together, she and Cameron grabbed all the chips, donuts, and other snacks they could carry, along with a couple of gas cans. The attendant was even more amazed as they brought all that to the front, and Cameron paid with his parent's credit card. On the TV was continuing coverage of the mess back in the city, with the anchors slowly losing composure.

"Are the riots that bad?" the man asked nervously.

Cameron and Marge looked at each other.

"Worse," Marge answered.

They took all their purchases back to the car, Cameron filled up the gas cans, and they were on the road again.

"Now what do we do?" Marge asked back in the rear.

"How should I know?" He didn't get back on I-80, worried that they would end up going through population centers. So instead he took the back roads west, where he noticed that the sun was steadily going down. Checking the clock on the dashboard, he was stunned to see it was almost seven in the afternoon. Cameron had just been sitting at home as if nothing were happening a mere four hours ago. And as cliché as it may have sounded, it really did feel as if a lifetime went by.

He decided it was time to gather his thoughts. So, the group consisted of a high school kid, a pencil pusher (to the best of his knowledge), and a child; with only a pistol with a single clip and a shovel. Well in the few zombie media Cameron had come across the people in it were no better off. But then again there was always that one gun wielding badass with a shit load of ammunition, which his "team" lacked.

Cameron remembered when he first saw the Dawn of the Dead remake, and how he constantly thought what a bunch of shit heads they all were—especially towards the end! Run away to an island in the middle of a lake? Did they honestly think they were the only ones that came up with that? And even if they stayed alive on that island, what the fuck then? _I would've survived,_ he thought back then. Well now was his chance to prove it.

"Canada!" Marge suddenly blurted out.

"Canada?"

"Yeah, those things would freeze in the winter, right? It's our best shot. Just keep heading west until we hit Iowa, then we turn north."

Those directions were really goddamn vague, and at the next gas stop (God willing) he'd have to pick up a tourist map of the area. But for a lack of a better idea, Cameron just said, "Canada it is then."


	8. On the Run

Never before was Cameron so happy to be in the middle of nowhere. Oh sure there was the occasional monster that ran at them from a field, but they posed no threat. And Cameron had his GPS, so he could easily maneuver around any and all small towns.

The real enemy was night. The sun seemed to go down quicker than usual, forcing Cameron to turn on his headlight, thus attracting attention. Still, that didn't stop him from driving west, just driving. His eyes were set straight ahead, being wary of anything that got in his way.

"Your phone's vibrating again," Marge announced from the back, where she was cuddling her sleeping child. "Wanna take it?"

Cameron held his hand out for it and answered.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank god, Cameron, where are you?"

"Nowhere," he said. "I'm just heading west for as long as I can."

"Good," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Now," she started, Cameron sensing that she was going into all out bitch mode, "what the hell were you thinking going back into the city. Who is this woman?"

"She's Mike's mom's coworker," he replied, short on patience. "I got stuck with her at Eli's, and then she wanted to get her kid. I couldn't say no, mom."

"Well that was still a big risk!"

"But I'm fine, and I'm on the move!" Cameron said. "Forget about me, what's going on over there?"

"Well Kauai's been quarantined, so the National Guard and local police are patrolling the shores and harbors." She paused. "Oh, Cameron, please find somewhere safe."

"I'm working on it."

"Well, here's your father."

"Hello? Cam?" his dad's voice said. "Where are you headed right now?"

"Canada," Cameron answered. "I figure it's less populated the farther north I go."

"That's good for now. But listen," he said, becoming more serious. "You're better off if you run into rednecks that are willing to take stragglers, and have been prepared for this shit."

"What shit?" Cameron asked, curious about his father's definition.

"You know," he said, becoming more hushed. "_Zombies!_" he hissed quickly and quietly. Cameron understood, for his mother would never accept such a ridiculous explanation (no matter how accurate).

Chuckling, Cameron said, "Love ya, dad."

"Same here, son." The call ended, so Cameron tossed his phone on the seat next to him.

"Excuse me," Marge said from the back, with the same bitch tone as his mom. "You got 'stuck' with me?"

"Well you gotta admit that you were useless at the beginning," he responded, unabashed.

"Stop at that truck over there," she ordered, pointing up ahead at a black pickup truck stopped on side of the road.

When Cameron did, they saw that inside there was a monster locked inside, desperately trying to find a way out. It spotted them, and the occupant went ape shit.

Marge got out of the car with the gun (her son was napping), and in one fell swoop she pointed it point blank at the monster's face and pulled the trigger (her son woke up with a start). The window shattered and blood and brain splattered the interior.

"There," she announced, leaning into the Honda and giving the gun to Cameron. "We'll just take some of this food and be on our way."

"So you're just leaving?" Cameron asked, perplexed. "Just cause of what I said?"

"Well we're just a burden, right?" she responded as she helped her groggy and confused kid out.

Cameron watched at Marge heaved the body out of the car and left it lying on the street. She was just about to get in, when Cameron found himself shouting, "Wait!" Only a few hours ago he was prepared to venture out by himself—but now he found the prospect of being alone frightening. "I'm sorry. You don't have to go."

Marge put on a satisfied smile, and slammed the driver's door of the truck closed. She proceeded to get back into backseat of the Honda—and just in time too. Five monsters ran out from the dark crop of trees to their left and attacked. Cameron took that as his cue to leave and hauled ass out of there.

"So where did you learn to handle a gun?" Cameron had to ask.

Marge looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well first at that daycare, and now that pickup truck? You gotta have experience."

She began chuckling. "I fired wildly into a crowd, and I shot a monster at point blank range," she explained as if speaking to a slow person. "How does that take skill?"

"Good point," he mumbled.

Maneuvering around all those small towns was no easy feat. Every five or ten miles one appeared on his GPS, and had to make the appropriate maneuvers to avoid them. But that didn't mean they didn't run into any zombies. There was no way that Cameron was the only to get out of the city, and not everybody that got out was uninfected.

Not only that it was slow going. He kept a constant speed of fifty mph—that might've been fast for other people, but Cameron was used to going much, much faster. It was only because he didn't want to smack a zombie while doing ninety, loose control, and careen off the road that he wasn't going faster.

After a few hours Cameron found himself ten miles or so from the Illinois/Iowa border, and saw on the map an obstacle that he didn't take into account: the Mississippi River.

"Fuck," he breathed, checking to make sure that his surroundings were zombie-free, and pulled off to the side of the road.

"What's up?" Marge asked, stepping to the front.

Cameron focused the map over Davenport. "We have three bridges to choose from," he started. "These two to the west are in the middle of the city and too far."

"So we use this one," she said, pointing to the one to the north.

"That's still pretty far from here," Cameron thought. "And still near a populated area."

"I suppose you're right. We'd also have to get back on I-80." The two of them silently agreed that wasn't a fun prospect. Marge then zoomed the map out and moved it north. "Forget going through Iowa. Let's go to Wisconsin."

"Alrighty." Cameron was about to drive on when his stomach growled, and his eyes suddenly felt heavier.

Marge smiled, saying, "Why don't I drive?"

He wasn't happy about giving up the driver's seat, but the day sapped all of Cameron's energy and he hadn't eaten since lunch.

"Keep Jack company in the back," Marge told him, ushering him from behind the wheel.

The kid was still sleeping there in the back, his face pressed against the door. It was then that he felt good about picking up Marge and her kid, glad to have risked his ass back at the daycare.

As Marge started driving, Cameron decided to take out his cell phone and call Mike. It went rang for thirty seconds, and Mike's away message came on. He feared the worst, but decided he might've just been sleeping; or his mom was probably being a pain in the ass and told Mike not to answer.

There was a beep that told him to leave a message. "Remember those things aren't people anymore…. Call me back, bud."

Cameron sat back and dug into his backpack for something to eat.


	9. Vehicular Zombicide

Cameron snorted when he woke up. He opened a bleary eye to see that some light was coming over the horizon. The clock said it was half past five.

"Where are we?"

"We entered Wisconsin a while ago."

"Had any problems?"

Marge shrugged. "Aside from being chased a by a few hordes of those things, it was peachy. Also had to stop to fill up."

That opened Cameron's eyes wide open. "You shoulda woke me up to keep guard!"

"I was fine."

"You were retarded!"

"Mommy?" the kid said groggily.

"Thanks a lot, Cameron!" Marge said harshly. "It's okay, honey, just relax." She reached back with her right hand to give her son a squeeze.

A few minutes went by in silence. Jack kept on staring at Cameron. The kid was a ginger just like his mom (_That you, South Park_, he thought with a wry smile). He was probably just a regular little kid, curious about the world, had friends at school. But so was Cameron. There was nothing spectacular about himself that he thought deserved to keep on living in such a harsh world. Still, here Cameron was.

"Who are you?" the kid asked.

"A friend."

"Mommy, can we go home?"

"We can't, sweetheart," Marge said sadly. "We have to find a new one."

"Why? Are there monsters there too?"

Marge seemed to be thinking of a gentle answer. "I don't know, but just in case we aren't going back."

Jack was not in a good mood—though neither was Cameron, so he didn't give the kid any mind.

Another hour passed, the sun came up completely, and only scattered groups of zombies appeared ever so often.

"There's a gas station up ahead," Marge stated, looking at a passing sign.

Cameron, who had been staring mindlessly out the window, said, "How much we have left?"

"A third empty."

"That's plenty."

"We'd better take this opportunity."

Fuck, she had a point. "I'll drive."

When the gas station was in sight, so were two-dozen zombies stumbling about. _Bring it on, you fucks_. One zombie caught sight of them in the car, it howled, the rest noticed too, and it turned into a stampede.

Cameron stomped on the gas pedal, and he zoomed towards the horde. As the car slammed into the zombies, in the back Marge put her arms around Jack. They cleared it without a problem, and after a hundred yards or so Cameron turned around to see the horde coming at them again.

He then got an idea. "Marge, stick the shovel out the window—hold onto it tight."

After doing as she was asked, Cameron floored it again. She had a hard time keeping the shovel in hand as it smacked against zombie after zombie. When Cameron turned around and went ahead with his third attack, Marge had to abandon the shovel idea after she got smacked in the head with the handle.

Cameron made six more passes until only one was left standing, three limping slowly, and ten dragging themselves one the ground. He made a seventh one to make sure he killed the standing one. It went without saying that his car was taking a serious beating.

Sighing, he watched the ones that were still moving. He saw it as too much trouble to run over all those one-by-one, so Cameron went with a different strategy.

"Fuck it, gimme the shovel," Cameron said, reaching out for it.

"Just run them over!" Marge exclaimed.

"Nah, I'll just finish it off personally. And if I end up getting bit, can you do me the favor of putting me outta my misery?"

Marge gave him a puzzled look before saying, "You're the retarded one! Just use the damn car."

"Just give it to me."

Rolling her eyes, Marge handed him the shovel before getting the gun ready.

And so Cameron got out of the car, checked his surrounding for any other zombies, and proceeded to the nearest limper. It got wilder and snarled more as Cameron approached, limping faster.

"Say goodnight, fuck face." Cameron swung the shovel like a baseball bat, taking the zombie to the ground. Without hesitation, he stepped on its neck and stabbed the shovel downwards penetrating the skull. It stopped half way through and skewed off the head a bit, but it got the job done.

It was the same story with the remaining mobile zombies, as one-by-one each one had its head cleaved off.

"Thank you," Cameron heard after making sure all the things were dead. "Thank you so much." He looked to see a man coming out of the gas station's store, limping and looking sickly. Cameron noticed dried blood down his leg.

"Fuck," Cameron breathed as Marge came forward with the car.

"I was chased here all the way from the nearest town," he explained. "I've been stuck in there since last night."

"Were you bitten by those things?" Cameron asked.

"Well, uh, one got me on the leg, but it's no big deal."

Marge got out of the car, thankfully with the gun in hand.

"Whatever, just glad we could help. Why don't you take one of these cars and leave?" There were two other cars parked at the gas station, but the guy looked hesitant.

"Hate to ask, but can't I bum a ride with you guys?" he asked pleadingly.

"Don't think so," Marge said flatly.

"Why not!"

Marge pulled the gun on him. "Cause we can't, got it?"

"WHY? Just take me to a safe zone, then I could get treated!"

_Hasn't anybody heard of zombies or infected?_ Cameron thought miserably. Didn't anybody else realize that they were in that kind of situation? That there was no cure? That there was only one way out of ending up as one of the living dead? But then again what would Cameron have thought if he was bitten at the start?

"Should we kill him?" Cameron whispered as quietly as possible to Marge.

"You wanna do it?" she asked.

He sighed. "I can't."

Marge set the gun down. "We have our reasons. Now go or I shoot you."

"Okay, okay." The man went to both cars, and said, "There are no keys for either."

"Then check those thing's pockets," Cameron said impatiently. "C'mon, we gotta fill the car up."

Cameron did his best to ignore the man as he stumbled around checking every pocket for a set of keys. It's not like he was heartless, but what other choice was there? And in the mean time Marge was keeping an eye out for other zombies (including the man, in case he died and reanimated in front of them).

After filling up the gas cans too, they got back in the car and drove off.

"ASSHOLES!" the man screamed as they passed.

"Maybe we _should_ have killed him," Cameron said, on edge.

"Well neither of us had the guts, so it couldn't be helped."

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Jack said from the back.

"Take whatever you want from the bags, sweetie."

Marge sighed and started playing with the GPS again. "Looks like we're southwest of Madison. Once we're far enough north we'd better turn west before we end up in Lake Superior."

"Sure," Cameron agreed tiredly, trying to get his mind back on the road. _If we make it that far_.


	10. Welcome to Yuba

According to the GPS they were officially northwest of Madison. Looking back Cameron had no idea how the hell they made it so far using almost nothing but back roads. And unfortunately they still had a long way to go before reaching Canada—what was worse than that was that they had to keep using back roads in Canada until they found a place to stay.

"You hear that?" Marge asked, perking her head up.

Cameron slowed down to decrease engine noise a little, and then he heard it too. It sounded like they were closing in on a bunch of trucks. The road veered to the left, and up ahead Cameron saw a truck convoy cross the intersection in front of them. He counted at least fifteen pass by: Target, Walmart, Costco, various supermarkets, moving trucks, company trucks, all kinds.

"Holy shit," he breathed, coming to a stop. The convoy passed, with regular cars just behind them, and at the very end of it was an army personnel carrier, which came to a stop in front of them. Four people in army uniforms got out pointing their rifles at Cameron's car. The rest stayed inside keeping an eye on the perimeter.

"Out of the car!" one of them ordered.

"What do we do?" Cameron asked Marge.

"We get out of the car," she said, pulling the door handle. "Jack, get out slowly."

"Keep your hands where I can see 'em," the same person ordered as the three of them opened their doors.

Marge and Cameron raised their hands. Jack was timidly raised his too.

"Pants down. Shirts off. We have to check for bites."

Cameron did so without hesitation, but Jack didn't follow that order as easily. Marge had to comfort and keep him calm as soldiers came closer with their rifles still raised.

After a quick look over, they were pronounced clean, and the soldiers put their rifles down.

"Sergeant Isturez, Wisconsin National Guard," the one that had barked out the orders said, extending his hand. "Sorry about that, we had to make sure none of you were infected."

"I understand," he said, shaking his hand. "Cameron."

"Marge," she said to the sergeant, also taking his hand. "And my son Jack."

"Our Commander had us secure a small town west of here, and we're working on building up it's defenses," Isturez explained. "You're welcome to join us there."

That presented Cameron with a dilemma. On the one hand there was the promised protection of the National Guard—not only that there was no guarantee of safety in Canada. On the other hand a bunch of people being put into one area was always a potential powder keg.

"What do you do with infected people?" Marge asked.

Isturez shook his head sadly. "We have no cure for a bite, ma'am. We gotta put down all those bitten, whether they turned rabid yet or not."

"I'm going, Cameron," Marge told him without hesitation. "What do you think?"

"Sure," Cameron said with a shrug.

There was then a resounding gunshot from the personnel carrier, followed by another and another.

"Sir, the infected we picked up on the way are closing in on us!" one yelled. "We have to go now!"

"Get back in your car, and follow us," Isturez told Cameron and Marge, running back to the carrier.

The three quickly got back in the Honda and made a left to follow. He had to drive up next to the personnel carrier so as to not get in the way incase any soldiers were still firing. In the rearview mirror Cameron saw that indeed a horde of zombies was chasing after them, but they were getting smaller and smaller.

When it was safe Cameron fell back behind the carrier. As they made their way through the usual twists and turns of the back roads, while he wondered what kind of defenses those people were putting up.

Would it be good enough? Could they get overrun one day, meaning that Cameron would end up officially fucked? Was going it going to eventually be some sort of utopia? _Doubt it_, he thought. As long as it was livable, then that was all that mattered at the moment.

Next to him Marge looked much more relaxed. Perhaps she was much more optimistic about the whole thing, and Cameron hoped that she had enough optimism for the both of them. Being a mom was probably her prime motivation to live in a post apocalyptic community rather than have to fend for herself—which is what Cameron might've ended up choosing if he were alone.

When they made a right at another intersection Cameron saw some buildings starting to appear on his right, and on the left there was a river. Up ahead, he saw that had caught up to the truck convoy. When they got closer he saw that they were being directed by people on the ground to go right onto the grass, where a sort of wall of trucks was being made. The river to the left was acting as a natural barrier.

_Were those the defenses he was talking about?_ Cameron thought horribly. Well, in theory it might work, but he hoped that at least some barbed wire would be put up one day.

The trucks were looked they were being positioned around the perimeter, but it was another personnel carrier that was parked along the entire stretch of road leading into town. It moved as Isturez's vehicle approached the wall, and Cameron followed it in.

Once in town he was directed to park along the side of the road. Cameron turned off the car and got out to take a good stretch.

It was really was one small ass town, Cameron first thought. There were only three entrances to it: the one he just passed, further along where there was only one personnel carrier watching the road, to the right where more trucks were being positioned. The entire place was situated at the foot of a hill that rose to their north. That looked like it was going to be an obstacle for the potential wall of trucks.

Outside there was a bunch of people aimlessly walking around, probably truckers mostly. The next thing that crossed his mind was where all those people (including him, Marge, and Jack) were going to stay.

"Welcome to Yuba, Wisconsin," Isturez said, walking up to them.

"Isn't it a bit small?" Cameron asked.

"Less than a half a square mile," he answered with a knowing smile. "Yup, it's damn small. But we plan to expand out perimeter once we get more trucks in."

"Any idea where we'll be staying?" said Marge.

"People are shacking up in the church and local community center for now—but I imagine one of the locals can offer your family some room," he said to all of them.

_Family?_ Cameron thought, puzzled. Was he included in that? But he didn't correct the sergeant, preferring the chance to sleep in a house.

"Well I have to report back, so try to make yourselves comfortable for now," Isturez told them, taking his leave.

"So…we're safe for now, huh?" Marge asked Cameron, tearing up all of a sudden.

Cameron nodded. "I guess."

"That's great," she said, even more tears now coming out. Marge leaned against the poor beat up Honda to cry some more.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" Jack asked.

"Because sometimes people just need to," she answered, picking up her son and hugging him.

Cameron's phone sprung to life, so he walked away to give the two of them some privacy. His spirits were raised a bit to see it was Mike on the caller ID.

"Hey," he answered, trying not to sound to happy.

"Yo, Cam," Mike answered weakly. "Sorry about not picking up yesterday. Mom didn't let me."

_Knew it_. "Whatever. Where are ya now?"

"Nowhere, Indiana," he said with a weak laugh.

"Wisconsin for me. So how come you can call now?" What followed was a long pause. "Mike?"

"Mom's gone."

"Oh shit," Cameron breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"It's my fault," he said, as the sound of him weeping started. "I wanted to stop to take a leak. Then one of them came out from a bush and got to her. I beat that thing's brain in with a tire iron but it was too late."

"I know you're going through tough shit man, but you gotta keep moving," Cameron told him.

"No point."

"Why?" Cameron asked urgently.

"I thought my mom was dead, Cam. So I stayed with her—but then she woke up and went crazy on me…. I managed to drive off but she bit me."

Cameron didn't say anything. He just stood there holding the phone to his ear.

"I shouldn't've called, but I wanted to hear at least one friendly voice."

"I'm so fucking sorry, Mike," he responded in a hushed tone.

"So long, Cam."

"See you on the other side."

When the line went dead Cameron sat down hard on the sidewalk, and tears of his own started rolling in. His only consolations were that his parents were safe in Hawaii, and that he was also okay at the moment. But that wasn't enough to keep him from crying like he hasn't cried in years. His best friend was gone, his house was gone, and his entire hometown was gone—and what made it all worse was that many people were more than likely worse off. The world was being taken over by the undead.


	11. Recruiting

Cameron was Marge's brother—or at least that was the story they fed to the Harrison's (the elderly local couple that took in Marge and Jack), so that Cameron could stay too. He had a look at the community center, and didn't fancy crashing on a cot or air mattress. Sympathetic, Marge agreed and even instructed Jack to call him "Uncle Cam."

When Cameron first entered the house, he found to his immense surprise a computer—with Internet access no less! He wasted no time asking for permission to use it, and log on to his Facebook account. He almost wished he hadn't.

Just about every status update was some variation of "Help me!" or "Is anyone out there?" Not only that, but Cameron had fourteen wall posts and twenty-three messages in his inbox all asking the same thing. "Dude what's going on?" "You know what's happening?" "Please I need some help!" "Are you there? Please respond!" and so on.

Suddenly his chat box sprang to life:

"Cam?"

"Jules? Shit what's going on with you?" Cameron immediately typed down.

"I'm stuck at my house. Where r u? can u help?"

He hesitated before responding. "I'm in Wisconsin right now. Sorry."

"Wisconsin? Wtf r u doing there?"

"To get the fuck away from the city!"

He and Jules chatted along those lines for a little while longer. Cameron could barely take it. Not wanting to lose another friend, he desperately wished he could help, but there was nothing he could do. It would've been foolhardy to even think about going all the way back for her.

"Just hold on. I'm sure the army will come at any time."

"You really believe that?" He almost felt the skepticism in that sentence.

"Sure I do," Cameron lied.

"No u don't…but thanks." She paused. "any news on anybody else?"

Cameron hesitated again. "Mike's gone."

"…oh."

He then felt a hand on his shoulder. "Mike?" Marge said, reading his conversation. "You mean Carol's kid? Does that mean she's…you know?"

"Yeah," Cameron confirmed. "He called me a while back to tell me what happened."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Listen, do you mind if I…" Marge nodded at the computer.

"Sure, just a sec." He typed to Jules, "Look, someone else needs the comp. I'll be back on asap. Promise."

"Make sure you do. Please."

And Cameron logged out, handing over the computer.

About two hours later, Cameron got a call from his parents. They were relieved to hear that he had found a safe place to stay (he didn't say that "safe" was being used loosely). On their side, all the guests on the island attended a meeting about the situation. If things didn't get better soon they would no longer be guests, and they had to start pulling their own weight. Not too many people were happy about that.

When dinner was served Cameron wolfed down everything in front of him with gusto. Seeing as his lunch the previous day consisted of a burger, he hadn't eaten a proper meal in two days. It would've killed him to live on nothing but junk food for more than a week.

After dinner was over the Harrison's went to bed. Marge went to tuck Jack into the guest bed before returning. It was then that Cameron decided it was safe to ask Marge about her own family. She told him later that the only people that she was able to reach were her parents in Florida. They were in a tight situation, what with their house being surrounded by howling, rabid people desperate to get inside.

The family talk suddenly got Cameron got curious about something. "Whatever happened to Jack's dad?"

Marge shook her head sadly. "His appendix burst two years ago, and he died of sepsis."

That came as a surprise to Cameron. Yes, the fact that Jack's dad died at all sucks, but Cameron expected a more compelling story behind it. "Sorry," was all he said.

She just smiled. "Don't be, it's not your fault."

They stayed up to talk for the next half hour before she went back to Jack to sleep herself. Before going to the pull out sofa bed made for Cameron, he went on Facebook one more time to check up on Jules. She was thankfully still alive.

The sounds outside made it difficult for Cameron to get to sleep. What with people walking around, trucks still being positioned around the town, and light constantly flashing through the window it was a miracle he dozed off at all.

The next morning it was a good ol' helping of bacon and eggs for breakfast.

"I wonder how long we'll be able to eat like this," Mrs. Harrison said over the breakfast table.

Cameron barely heard her. He was too busy mulling over the fact that if all hell had never broke loose, he'd be sitting at school right now taking a math test. _I wonder if Ms. Driscoll made it_, he thought with as wry smile, recalling various memories of her lecturing in that snug pink sweater.

There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Harrison answered it. "Yes, how can I help you?" he answered.

"May I speak with the occupants for a moment?" said the man at the door.

Cameron looked up to see a gruff looking National Guardsmen walking up to the table. He was tall, elderly looking, and gave off this aura of strict discipline.

"Good morning," he said with a strong voice, his focus going primarily to Cameron and Marge. "My name is Major Kyle, and I'm going door-to-door looking for some volunteers."

"Not many doors to knock on around here," Cameron observed.

The Major gave him a pointed look that made Cameron squirm a bit. "Anyway, we lost all contact with our command last night, so basically we're on our own. And that means that we need everybody's that willing and able to help."

"Sure," Marge agreed, smiling.

"I'm not done," he continued. Cameron could tell that the real reason why the Major was here was coming up. "Our CO thinks that we're gonna be stuck here a long time—and I mean a _long time_. So, he's asked me to form a…militia of sorts."

"You already have one," Cameron said pointedly. "It's called the National Guard." From the look on the Major's face he must have gotten that response a dozen times over.

"Here's thing," he said bluntly. "We don't know how long we'll be here. And initial estimates are that the supplies brought in by my unit, those trucks, and what this town already had to offer, will run dry within the next couple of weeks—shorter if we keep on finding refugees."

"So what do you mean to do about it?" Marge asked carefully.

"Supply runs," the Major answered. "We're planning on giving everyone that volunteers rifle training, so that we can send people out there to gather food and other supplies."

"That's crazy! You intend to give civilians guns and send them out into the open?" Marge raged. "Well I can't I have a child to think about."

"But I don't," Cameron said thoughtfully. "I'll do it."

Marge looked at him. "Cam, you can't. It's a huge risk."

"We either starve in here, or die out there," Cameron told her, with an approving nod from Kyle. "And I didn't drive all the way here from Chicago just to sit on my ass."

"But—"

"Sign me up," Cameron told the Major.


	12. The Shooting Range

At one o'clock that afternoon everyone that volunteered were ordered to go the empty field right next to the town. When Cameron got there he was rather impressed to see that the truck wall had actually come into fruition. In the grassy area between the road and river there was one truck parked. On the road itself was the personnel carrier that could be moved at a moment's notice. And wrapping around the entire field was the rest of the trucks, lined up end to end, disappearing into the wooded area at the bottom of the hill, so that it could go around the town itself.

Cameron barely had time to wonder how they would get those trucks to line up in a place so packed with trees, when two jeeps came down the road to meet them all. The Major hopped out of the first one, and started surveying what he had to work with.

"Good god," he said in response to the people before him. "Well if this isn't the sorriest bunch of ingrates that I've had to displeasure of working with."

Most of the people there looked insulted, some puzzled, but Cameron had to work hard to suppress his laughter. Standing there in uniform, with a wrinkled up face, cropped gray hair, reflective sunglasses, and demeaning comments, Cameron couldn't help but be reminded of R. Lee Ermey.

But he also had a point. Looking around Cameron saw all different kinds of people: males and females, young to old, fat to skinny, and just about every color under the rainbow. But none of them looked like they've had a lot of time handling a weapon—Cameron included. The majority of all these people were likely truckers.

"But you're here and that's what count," he went on. "Each of you will be given a weapon, which will eventually be fired properly by all present. You will sleep with it, eat with it, take a dump with it, and it will even be there during your most private of moments." The Major made a gesture, and the soldiers in the jeeps began digging through crates that contained rifles, and started passing them out.

"Because once you're out there, your weapon will be your best friend! Two days ago our unit was in Green Bay." Cameron saw the soldiers pause, bow their heads, and resumed handing out rifles. "And I'm telling you now that the things out there are no longer human beings—they are an enemy that needs to be destroyed!"

"What?" someone said. "You can't be serious. This is a disease, there has to be a cure!"

"Get the fuck out!" Major Kyle shouted, jamming his finger back towards town.

The person that spoke up did so, and as well as five others.

"As I was saying," he continued. "When we saw what was happening there, we got far away from there as fast as possible—but not before loosing a lot of good men and women. We eventually ended up here and started planning its defenses. Now, who here has actually killed one of those things?"

Cameron and a few others raised their hands.

The Major pointed at Cameron. "How many?"

He was taken by surprise. Cameron thought back to the gas station, and all the other ones he ran over along the way. "Well, uh, maybe around thirty-ish I think."

"Really?" he responded, clearly impressed. The others looked stunned as well, probably in disbelief that a kid like him could do such a thing.

It was Cameron's turn to be handed a rifle, and it was a bit heavier than he expected.

"Listen up," the Major started again. "Not one of you will leave this place until you prove to me that—one, you can shoot—and two, you can shoot an infected." Once everyone got a rifle he pointed to a line of bay hales with big, red targets a ways away. "Line up, let's see what ya'll got."

A lot of the people around were stunned that they were being asked to shoot so soon—Cameron even more so when he ended up first in line. Uncertainly, he raised the rifle, trying to line the sight with the target in front of him. As Cameron tried to hold the rifle steady, the Major started going down the line correcting everyone one by one.

Once more it was surreal for Cameron. Just two days previously he went to school and played some Halo afterwards (on reflection maybe he would've been better off playing Left 4 Dead). Today he was learning how to fire a gun in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin.

When the Major got around to Cameron, he had to fix his stance, arms, and the way he was holding the rifle. It was even more of a pain the ass trying to hold that position.

Once done, Major Kyle got out of the line of fire and shouted. "Okay! Get ready! Aim! Fire!" Everybody fired at different times. Cameron had to try pulling the trigger three times before finally got it to fire—and missed by a mile. Not only that the noise was deafening.

Still, he didn't do any worse than everybody else. Only two people were actually able to hit the hay bale. Cameron dug his finger into his ear. The Major didn't seem surprised at all.

_Fuck,_ Cameron thought. Even worse a lot of the bullets hit the trucks at the other end of the field, popping a few tires. Well, they weren't in a movie, so no one was expected to automatically pick up a gun and pick off a zombie with a nice, clean headshot.

"Next!"

Whatever Cameron had been expecting when he signed up for shooting practice, it wasn't this. All day he had to stand around, waiting in front of six other people for his turn to shoot off a round. He tried as best he could to replicate the form that Major had put him in, but Cameron just couldn't get it right. Only a few others were able to hit the bulls-eye.

By the time the sun went down Cameron was only able to hit the hay bale twice. And if he was planning on volunteering to go out into zombie country, he had to learn how to shoot a lot better.

"Report back here tomorrow at 0800!"

The order was met with displeased grumbling but no one argued. So, Cameron used the strap to hitch the rifle around his back and left.

As Cameron walked back to the house he decided to check in on his parents. They were doing fine, volunteering to do whatever odd job had to be done. They weren't particularly pleased when Cameron told them what he was up to, but they were in no position to tell him what to do. Next up was Jules…she was still stuck in the house, but was glad that she had someone on the outside to talk to.

And so after dinner, Cameron set his rifle next to his sofa bed, and charged his phone before going to sleep. That put an end to the second day at Yuba.


	13. Pass or Fail

The truck wall was complete. It was a pain in the ass for drivers to line them up through the trees at the foot of the hill, but it got done. The next step was to put a bunch of sandbags under each one to prevent any crawling zombies from getting through the wall. Where the sandbags came from Cameron didn't know or care, but he was happy to see that a chain link fence was being put around the trucks.

While the fence was being put up soldiers were standing on top of the trucks, ready to pick off zombies that posed a threat (which was all of them). To make patrolling the perimeter easier, makeshift bridges were placed over the truck cabs so that patrols could walk over them.

Marge was along those that were helping move stuff around. She did her share of the heavy lifting, helped prepare food for the growing population, and even carried a shovel around while patrolling to dispose of stray zombies.

Everybody in town was encouraged to do their part. The original population of locals was eighty some, and they varied in age and size. On top of that were the fifty or so extra people from the National Guard. There used to be a lot more them, but a lot were lost in Green Bay, or deserted to look for family.

Then came dozens of truckers that were passing through the area, and the normal refugees like Cameron, Marge, and Jack. The estimated total population was around two hundred that was slowly growing. Space was limited, the community center was filling up, and more locals were forced to open their homes to others. Some even had to pitch tents outside.

In the meanwhile, Cameron continued with rifle training, and virtually everyday was the same. It wasn't simply point, shoot, and hope to get better at it, though. He also had to learn how to dismantle the rifle, clean it, and put it back together. That was even more of a pain, but according to Kyle they needed to get more acquainted with their weapons.

Two weeks passed, and all the practice came into fruition. Cameron's aim steadily got better, able to hit targets farther away. He was nowhere near the level of a true marksman, but he thought that he was good enough to survive out in the open.

Once almost all the volunteers were good enough shots, Major Kyle said that he had a little surprise in store for them. He had everybody line up single file, making it so that Cameron was first.

"So," the Major said to him, "you say that you've killed thirty infected. Correct?"

Cameron nodded. "Yeah."

"Then step forward," he ordered.

On top of the trucks, Cameron watched two soldiers pull on a rope, which hauled up a third person. That third figure was bound, gagged, and was putting up a hell of fight—it was a zombie, Cameron immediately realized. But what the hell were they doing with a zombie?

The soldiers stood the zombie upright, cut its bonds, and pushed it over the edge towards them.

"The fuck?" Cameron observed, as the zombie stood up howling and raging at the people above him.

Major Kyle then let out a loud whistle, which got the zombie's attention. It let out a screech through its gag and charged at them.

"You say you've taken out infected? Prove it."

"Seriously?"

"Damn straight."

Cameron gave the man a look before raising his rifle, taking aim (which was more difficult on a moving target), and putting a bullet clean through the zombie's skull. Blood and brain sprayed out from the back of the head as the thing topped to the ground lifeless.

"FUCK YEAH, CAM!" To his right, Cameron spotted Marge doing patrol duty, and had caught him taking the shot.

"Good," Major Kyle said, with an approving nod at Cameron's lack of hesitation. "My people went through hell to capture all these infected," the Major announced to everyone. "Don't disappoint me. Next!"

Everybody else got their shot, and all but one was able to pull the trigger. That zombie was taken out by the soldiers before it got too close to anybody; and the person that couldn't kill it was dismissed until he proved that he was able to take the shot. Then the Major became grimmer as Cameron was once again called to the front of the line.

"Not all infected are going to be fully grown people," he started, making a gesture to those on the truck. "Get ready, Marsh."

This time the soldiers hauled up a much smaller person. To Cameron's disgust this time it was a little girl who they were shoving over the edge. She let out the same horrible shriek, and ran at Cameron.

It was harder to dehumanize this zombie. No matter what Cameron couldn't help but know that that used to be a little girl, someone's daughter, and someone's student. She likely watched Bob the Builder on TV, enjoyed playing with her Barbie dolls—hell, she might've even asked for a pony for every Christmas and birthday. But he focused on the ravaged face, bloody and tattered clothes, and pale eyes. It wasn't human.

Cameron pulled the trigger, and the girl went down just like all of the other zombies around _it._

The Major patted him on the shoulder, and pointed for the next person to come forward. This challenged proved more difficult, as four people couldn't shoot at those child sized zombies, and were promptly dismissed. So at the end of it all fifty-one volunteers remained.

"We'll be dangerously low on supplies within one week," Major Kyle announced. "We're going to the nearest super market to start salvaging before that happens. Practice will continue until then, but for now clean this field up."

"This is bullshit," Horace whispered to Cameron as they went to work.

"Yeah," Cameron agreed lazily. Horace was thirty, had a beer belly, and used to own a pawnshop. He barely escaped from Oshkosh when the infection hit, and pretty much had the same story as all the other refugees (shit went down, and he got the fuck out). Cameron made friends with him one day after firing practice when they bitched and moaned about the Major, who wasn't all that bad but they needed to vent their frustration somehow.

"C'mon, Cam, he was the one that made us shoot these things."

"True, but I'm not in the mood right now."

"Why? Just cause we had to shoot some zombified kids?"

"Well I'm not on your level of hardcore zombie killer yet," Cameron told him crossly as they dragged the bodies into one pile.

"I guess seeing those kids would make you think of your nephew," Horace observed, with what he supposed was an understanding nod.

"Yeah that's it," said Cameron. He was at least happy to know that the lie about being Marge's brother took hold—he really liked being able to sleep in a semi-actual bed. "So scared to get back out there?"

"Hell yeah!" he answered without shame. "Fuckin' kidding me? The thought of leaving makes me wanna quit."

When the bodies were all piled up, kerosene was thrown on them and they were burned. Cameron bade farewell to Horace, and made his daily call to his parents. They were fine. Next was Jules.

There was no answer.

As soon as he got back to the house, Cameron got on Facebook. He didn't see her logged on, which was strange since she always stayed on. Cameron simply prayed that her power was just out, and her cell phone died.

"Please let her be okay," he said softly to God or whoever was out there. "Please."


	14. Zombie Country

It was ten in the morning. Parked on Main Street were four modified trucks. On top of each were what looked like fences, and on the bottom were metal plates that covered up the space underneath. Upon opening the back one would see benches, and a rope ladder that led to a hatch to get to the roof. The cab also had a hatch so that the passengers there could also get to the roof the truck. Each truck also had a many boxes of ammunition.

The volunteers and some of the National Guard were gathered.

"So you haven't been in contact all week?" Horace asked.

"'Fraid so," Cameron said sadly. If the zombies didn't get Jules, then starvation would. Did her house have enough food to last so long? Somehow that never came up in conversation.

A sharp whistle sounded, causing all conversation to come to a halt. Then a man that Cameron hadn't seen before walked up to them. All the National Guard people stood at attention, including Kyle and Isturez, and Cameron understood—it was the Commander. He must've barely shown his face in public because few of the civilians recognized him. The Commander was tall, black, and burly, looking sharp in his uniform.

"We're starting small," the man started, "but that doesn't mean it's dangerous. I thank each and every one of you for risking your lives out there. And because of that I am going to join you." His subordinates looked stunned at this announcement but he only smiled. "I'm just like all of you, having to fight so that we can make a life for ourselves. I want at least twenty men—"

"And women," a female from the crowd shouted.

"Yes, and women," the Commander acknowledged. "At least twenty in each truck." He motioned to each truck as he said, "Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta. Take your pick—we're moving out."

Marge and Jack walked up to Cameron looking anxious.

"Be careful out there, Cam," Marge said to him.

"Sure I will." The two of them hugged. Her flaming hair had a faint aroma of shampoo, and Cameron felt her chest squeeze against him. They parted before Cameron got too into that hug. There was something about putting your life on the line that made you realize that your friend was hot—even if they were pretending to be siblings.

"Bye, Uncle Cam," said Jack.

Cameron ruffled the kid's hair. "See ya." The two of them sort of bonded over the past few weeks, as if Cameron was really his uncle.

He and Horace got into Delta. They took a seat on the benches, and a few minutes later the trucks roared to life. A light bulb was attached to the ceiling, so Cameron was able to see the apprehension on every person—both volunteer and Guard.

Cameron understood completely. This was the first time in weeks that he was leaving the confines of Yuba for the open road. Like all the others he just held his gun, gritted his teeth, and kept his face as straight as possible.

Eventually the trip was made even more nerve racking by the occasional banging coming from outside. That and the bumpy ride almost made Cameron want to vomit. More than once the turns practically threw people off their seat.

After a little while the truck started to slow. The people started to stand up, when the truck banked left. After it came to a complete stop and the engine turned off, the ranking officer took one of the boxes and climbed up the rope ladder. Upon reaching the top she gave the all clear for the rest to follow.

Cameron waited in a queue to go up while outside he heard moans that got louder and louder. When it was his turn to climb up, he strapped the gun over his shoulder. After reaching the top Cameron gasped.

They were in the parking lot of growling, howling zombies. The trucks were arranged in a square, forming a space in the middle. The people that were already out were eliminating the ones in the middle. Once it was cleared out another rope ladder was thrown over the edge for people to climb up and down. Everybody had been briefed on the plan: create a safe area inside the circle of trucks, and there people would be able to rest, eat, or take care of personal business.

"Who thought of this?" Cameron asked the soldier next to him, as they proceeded to kill those on the outside.

"Wilson—he's on Bravo right now. Well, he didn't really come up with it," he corrected himself. "He sort of got the idea from World War Z."

"World War what?" he responded.

The soldier stopped his shooting to give Cameron a funny look. "Are you serious? It's a book—and a damned good one, too!"

"Not much of book person," Cameron admitted, pointing his rifle down. He picked out a zombie and pulled the trigger. His literary knowledge was limited to school, and to a few Tom Clancy books he read while stuck at an airport during mind numbing family vacations.

"Whatever, man, I'm gonna see to it that everyone reads that," the soldier stated.

"What about the Zombie Survival Guide?" Horace put out, also in the process of shooting.

"Has some good tips," he said, "but I wouldn't put too much stake in it."

"Why not?"

"These zombies and those zombies are completely different."

"True," Horace agreed.

The talking ceased, and Cameron focused his efforts on killing the things below him. They were almost literally in a sea of the undead—two or three hundred at the least, and more just kept on coming. The things were showing up from the neighboring community or the surrounding countryside.

Whenever someone ran out of bullets they just reached into their truck's boxes for a fresh magazine (Cameron was forced to hold a shooting position for an hour for saying "clip" once), and got back to work. And when the box ran out of ammo someone went back down into the truck to grab another. The fences prevented anybody from falling over into the monsters below.

It was such a simple task that Cameron almost thought it unfair. He just pointed down, picked a zombie, and shot it. Aim down, pick one, and shoot it. It was a turkey shoot, and all the zombies could do was reach up and snarl. Cameron questioned why they spent those weeks practicing when this was all they were doing.

But what had started out as easy was turning tedious. Much like a lion couldn't tell apart a single zebra in a large group of them, Cameron was finding it harder to pick out a zombie. Not only that they were spending hours in the blazing sun. When Cameron tried cracking his stiff neck, he felt a stinging sensation—he had a fucking sun burn!

To top it all off he noticed another problem arising. Cameron remembered that movie Starship Troopers. The humans were shooting aliens from their fort, but eventually the dead aliens began piling up, allowing the live ones to reach the top of the fort's wall. That was exactly what happening before him.

The people focused most of their attention on the zombies directly below them, causing the dead bodies to pile up.

"Hey, uh, in the World War Z book, did they have a problem with the zombies piling up?" Cameron had to ask the soldier.

The soldier stopped shooting, blinked, and looked down. The pile had reached half way up the truck, and one zombie managed to grab onto the fence before being shot down.

"Oh shit," he breathed. "Sir," the man yelled to Alpha. "SIR! We should move before the infected can overrun us!"

The shooting stopped for a second, as everybody seemed to suddenly understand why the trucks should be moved. Bad move. That allowed some zombies to get too close, reach through the protective fence, and grab a leg that they pulled in to take a bite out of.

"Ah! HOLY FUCK!"

Shots were fired again to kill those zombies, and the bitten person was pulled away from the fence. Then people went back to shooing the approaching zombies, as the Commander barked orders at the people resting in the middle to climb back up, so that the drivers could relocate the trucks.

When the engines came on again, everybody held on tight to the nearest piece of fence. With Alpha in the lead it paved the way to an emptier part of the parking lot, leaving behind four large piles of dead undead.


	15. Salvage

Everyone on the roofs of the trucks had to hold on for dear life as the vehicles moved. They waded through the undead until the first truck stopped, the three behind it got back into formation. It was the same drill: take out the ones in the middle of the truck before focusing on the rest.

About an hour and a half later it looked like the job was done. They waited another twenty minutes to wait for any other zombies to arrive, and only two stragglers showed up. The area was declared secure for the moment.

All four trucks were then positioned right in front of the super market, and the Commander called for attention. "Okay, this is what is going down. Alpha will comb this town street by street to look for any survivors. Bravo and Delta, you're going to sweep through the grocery store, take out any remaining infected, and start loading up. Charlie, you are to stay outside and stand guard. Any questions?"

There were none. After Alpha left Cameron became curious about the person that had received a bite. He found the poor soul sitting against one of the tires, looking sickly, and with bloody jeans. The man was already given three options: shoot himself, let someone else do it, or die from the bite and be shot before reanimation. He had chosen the third, and was now waiting for death.

But Cameron couldn't dwell. He took a magazine out from the box, and stuck it in his back pocket before taking his position at the grocery store's door. The market had two entrances on opposite ends of the building. Bravo took one, and Delta the other.

"On my mark," Sergeant Isturez ordered from Bravo. "Move slowly, keep guns at the ready. Okay, move out."

The doors were supposed to be automatic but didn't open. Two men on his end (named Red and Walsh if Cameron recalled correctly) tried to pry them apart but to no avail. The same was happening at the other set of doors. Isturez counted to three, and the glass doors were shot out. Cameron readied himself again incase any infected came running.

Nothing. Istrurez gave the signal and the two teams slowly proceeded inside, the shattered glass crunching loudly under their feet. Cameron became a lot tenser, he pulse got faster, and his hands got sweatier. This was easily the most dangerous part of the excursion.

Sure, they had that one problem on top of those trucks, but for the most they were safely out of reach. But it was completely different story on the ground. Not only that but it was dark in that market. The power must've already failed.

The dark was not your friend in zombie country. Even within Yuba Cameron was always watching his back for fear of a zombie sneaking up on him. Call him paranoid, but goddamn if that didn't happen in every zombie movie. Only a few had the sense to bring along flashlights.

Cameron and Horace got behind a person that did bring a light. Together the three of them split up from the rest of the group, checking their designated aisles. Horace kept his gun trained in front of them, while Cameron kept an eye on the rear.

He heard a gunshot from outside, which signified the end of bitten person's life. A small part of him felt guilty for the one casualty they took. It was Cameron who initially pointed out the problem, which lead to the brief ceasefire that cost that guy's life. _Fuck_, he thought, exhaling loudly and trying to put it out of his mind.

There were eventually three more shots taken within the market. After fifteen minutes the store was declared secure. With that all canned foods, breads, and every other nonperishable item was loaded up onto the trucks. The smell was unbearable whenever Cameron had to get near the fruits, vegetables, and meats.

Eventually Cameron saw that nobody had touched the sodas. It's been weeks since his last dose of carbonated water and high fructose corn syrup, and he noticed that other people were taking personal goodies of their own. So, nonchalantly, Cameron grabbed himself a case of Coca-Cola.

"What the hell is that, Marsh?" he heard Isturez ask from behind.

"C'mon, Sarge," Cameron argued, securing the case in his arms. "You didn't stop anybody from grabbing every goddamn case of beer!"

Isturez sighed, and made a passive "carry on" gesture.

Cameron went outside and stashed his soda under the benches. Charlie was still sitting on top of the truck keeping watch, and he saw as Alpha was returning from the town. He went back into the market to get back to work.

The market was emptied virtually of every nonperishable item in two hours. Alpha, it turned out, managed to rescue five people from town. Those weren't all happy rescues, though. Cameron heard later how some family members had to be left behind because they were bit.

But unfortunately that was the new world they lived in. Those people looked close to starvation, and were eagerly eating what was being salvaged.

By seven in the afternoon, the sun was going down, and it was time to head back. It was a tight fit in the back of the truck due to all the supplies, and that made it an even more uncomfortable ride. What would happen whenever they ended up salvaging from an even bigger place?

"Hell of a day, huh?" Horace groaned.

"Yup," Cameron had to agree. He was tired and hungry. But since he wasn't one of the starving survivors, he couldn't have anything until they got back.

In a strange way, it was a relief when the door opened up again to reveal that they were back in Yuba. A fairly large crowd had gathered to welcome them back, and Cameron was glad to see that Marge and Jack were among them. At that instant Cameron realized that that place had become home—an overcrowded and undersupplied home, but home nonetheless.

Grabbing his Coke case, he hopped out of the truck to greet his surrogate family.

"So how many zombies you kill?" Marge asked, hugging him after he set the Coke down.

"Shit load," he answered, trying to keep quiet enough so Jack wouldn't hear the profanity.

Night had fallen, and all Cameron wanted was to go back to the house and get to bed. But now the unloading had to be done. Grumbling, he asked Marge to take the soda and stash it in the fridge, while he began to help move everything to the community center's kitchen.


	16. Quality Time

The beer was refrigerated over night, so the next day a huge party was unofficially declared at the community center. All of the cots were moved to the side, a stereo system was set up, and a bunch of mismatched tables and chairs were spread along the floor.

There were mixed feelings about that party as Cameron went on with his day. Some, mostly locals, didn't like how the town was usurped and its resources used on a whim. Others were glad to be able to blow off some steam. And the rest, like Cameron, didn't really give a damn.

With the first salvaging mission behind them rifle practice was no longer mandatory for the veterans, while an influx of new volunteers stepped in. Cameron didn't want to waste time or ammo at the shooting range, finding it more practical to do patrol duty, luring zombies to the wall, and stabbing down at them with a broken bottle attached to a handle.

"You prefer this or shooting them?" asked Marge, whom he had been partnered up with.

"Well, seeing as I have to be out there in the open to shoot, I'd say this," Cameron answered after pulling the bottle from skull of his most recent kill. He had to admit it was a nice change of pace being able to have a conversation with Marge outside the dinner table. Ever since arriving in Yuba all his time was spent at the firing range.

While Cameron had been friendly with the volunteer gunmen, Marge had made her own group of friends that sought to improve things in town. They organized a daycare to take care of the twenty-one children in town, found a way to maximize space, and a number of other boring things that people would rarely be thankful for. After arriving in Yuba she was really motivated to making improvements when the opportunity arose.

"So what the hell was your job?" Cameron suddenly asked.

"Huh?"

"Y'know, back before all this shit." It was a question that he'd wanted to know the answer to, but it was never important to bring up.

"Don't remind me," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "I just typed information down on a computer—company records, stocks, other crap. I was a glorified secretary. I'm only twenty-six, so I was worried that I would be doing that for the next forty years." She shook her head.

"So, what, you're glad all this happened?"

"Of course not! I'm just happy to be doing something more meaningful," Marge responded. "Well, what about you? Did you do anything interesting?"

"I was still in school," he answered.

"Alright, what did you want to do when you graduated?"

Shrugging, he said, "I never really knew. But a career test said I'd be a good social worker."

"Cam! Marge!" he heard Horace call from below them. "Party's from sundown to sunrise. Be sure to be there!"

"Idiots," Marge declared after Horace went to spread the word. "There are more important things we have to work on."

"Please, I overheard already that you were going."

She was caught. "Okay, fine, I'm going. What about you?"

"A beer-fest surrounded by drunken idiots? Not my scene."

"You're in high school! That's all the scene is."

"True, but—wait," he said. "HEY ASSHOLE!" Cameron shouted at a zombie headed their way. "Fresh meat right here!" The zombie gave off the usual snarl and charged. It slammed against the fence, desperately reaching its decaying hands up at Cameron and Marge. Unfazed, he just stuck the broken bottle through the skull.

"I never saw the point of getting completely shit faced," Cameron continued, as though he had done nothing more than pour himself a glass of water.

"Go. You need to relax just like the rest of us," Marge argued.

"If you say so," he conceded.

Just about everyone in town had shown up for the party. Jack was being watched over by the Harrison's, so Marge let loose and left Cameron in the dust to join her own friends. As Cameron stood there he suddenly noticed that the music changed from country to metal.

Curious, he went to the DJ and saw the table was piled with various CDs and MP3 players. There was rock, jazz, R&B, and so on. If he had to guess, the truckers must've chipped in for the music.

"Bad news, Cam," Horace said, coming up to him.

"What? I'll be forced to listen to shitty music most of the time? Who the fuck listens to Miley Cyrus?" he wondered, picking up the CD. Funny how even after a zombie apocalypse he still found time to hate the over-hyped bitch.

"No, the town government is trying to reassert its authority in the shittiest way possible."

"How?" he asked, and Horace pointed to large group of pissed off people.

"Look here, dickheads, I didn't see you out there risking your asses," one shouted to a group of middle-aged people that were blocking the way to the cooler.

"The law is the law," the one that seemed to be the leader said. "No alcohol to anyone under the age of twenty-one." It was then that Cameron noticed that most of the pissed off people were his age.

"That's bullshit!" he argued, appalled. Cameron may not have been planning drinking much, but it was the goddamn principle of the thing. So with that he joined the throng of pissed off people. What was even more of a disgrace was that some of them were National Guard—people whose job it was to protect those like the ones blocking their way.

"What in the living hell is this?"

Major Kyle made his way to the front of the group, looking perplexed.

"These minors want to consume alcohol," the leader said once more. "And since we're the only law here, it's out job to stop them."

Kyle looked like he was hit over the head with a mallet. "You people have to get your heads outta your asses!" the Major shouted. "Almost every one of these young men and women were responsible for getting this fucking beer in the first place!"

"The state of Wisconsin says that the legal drinking age is twenty-one! Or do you plan on breaking away from this country to form your own military state?"

_It's just booze_, Cameron found himself thinking.

The Major, though, seemed to have some to a realization. "No, you're right," he said, "this is still, after all, the United States of America." Those behind him looked crestfallen. "But you can't deny we're on our own," the Major continued, with a gleam in his eye. "So, I say that we carry on our great nation's tradition of democracy and take a vote."

Turning on his heel, Major Kyle marched towards the DJ. With a flip of the switch the music was cut off, and Kyle picked up a microphone.

"I have an announcement," he started, his voice gathering the attention of everyone in the room. "Seeing as we have most of the town's population here, I think this is legitimate.

"We here are isolated from the rest of the country, so it is up to us to continue enforcing the nation's law." He paused for dramatic effect. "But if some of us here deem some of these laws unfair I think it's our god given right to change them. For example," he said, gesturing towards the throng of discontent youth, "at least a fifth of our firepower—those that have risked their life to get us supplies, and will continue to do so—are under twenty-one. And because of that _those_ people are saying they can't sit back and have a beer."

The majority of the listeners looked to the leaders of the government, and gave them a surprised and disgusted look.

"So for now, I say we take a vote on whether or not to change the legal drinking age from twenty-one to eighteen. All those in favor of changing the drinking age, raise your hand." With that the majority of the people assembled raised their hands. "Those against." A scant few, including the local leaders raised theirs. "Motion passed. Grab a cool one, guys."

The leaders of the local government were so shocked to see what had transpired, that they were easily pushed aside. Cameron, who had not planned on drinking much, started chugging down beers.

And in no time Cameron was officially shit faced, and he hated himself for that. He always had good control over himself, but those tight asses had simply pissed him off. So, he decided to cool it and grab a seat.

A little while later the chair next to his scraped on the floor as Marge sat down next to him. It looked like she had a few in her too.

"So enjoying your new right?" she asked, laughing.

"A bit too much," Cameron answered, pressing his palm to his forehead. "I just hope this new thing about changing the laws doesn't get outta hand."

"All we can do is hope for the best," said Marge, patting his back.

Cameron stood up shakily. "I'm going back to the house."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Together they left and drunkenly stumbled down the road back to the house. Outside some people that were out that night chuckled as the two made their way. When Cameron tried to step on the sidewalk, he tripped a bit and Marge managed to catch him before he fell on his ass. In the process, he once more caught a whiff of Marge's hair. He grumbled in discontent.

"What's wrong?" Marge asked.

"It sort of sucks," he mumbled.

"What sucks?"

He took a quick look around to make sure they were alone, and what came out next was purely due to the alcohol: "That you're supposed to be my sister."

Marge stopped walking and stared at him curiously. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, starting to walk again.

"No." She grabbed his arm to pull him back, smirking under the moonlight. "Tell me."

"You're hot," he told her with a shrug.

Marge stared at him a bit more before starting to walk back to the house.

_SHIT!_ Cameron thought, suddenly realizing what he'd done.

Back at the house it was all dark. Everybody had thankfully gone to sleep, and Cameron was just about to excuse himself to go to bed too. But before he got a single world, Marge slammed him against the wall.

"Do you want me, Cam?" she asked quietly and very seriously. "I wouldn't say no to a casual romp."

His eyes popped open and his jaw dropped a bit. "Seriously?" he croaked.

"Sure, why not?"

"What if someone finds—?"

"No one has to find out," she interrupted.

Zombies or no zombies Cameron Marsh, age eighteen, was a healthy, vibrant, (and drunk) heterosexual male that was being offered sex by an attractive older woman. He nodded…hard. Marge smiled and leaned in to kiss him. It started as a kiss, but it quickly got heavier and more passionate. Soon enough they were frenching, their hands moving all over the place.

Marge was clearly in control, and ended up guiding him to the bathroom. After locking the door behind her, Cameron was going to turn on the light but she stopped him.

"No," she said quietly. "We don't want to give anyone a reason to check in here."

He didn't argue and they went back to making out. Marge pushed Cameron onto the toilet seat, sat on his lap, and they started taking each other's clothes off.


	17. Scout Three

Cameron didn't know why in sitcoms whenever someone woke up with a hangover he or she would always have a splitting headache and sensitive hearing. That was bullshit. When Cameron woke up the next morning he felt like lead, was groggy, and had cottonmouth like no other—basically like complete and utter shit.

Still, he got himself out of bed and plopped down at the breakfast table. Marge was in no better shape. In the meanwhile, Jack and the Harrison's were fresh as a daisy.

"Morning," he greeted groggily.

"Yeah," she said back, completely out of it as well.

The thing that had happened the previous night was a one and done deal. Cameron understood that, and he had no regrets.

And so the next few days were as normal as can be—or at least as normal as things get in that zombie-infested world. Cameron did a bit more perimeter patrol, hung out around the house, volunteered to help take care of the town's kids for a while, and helped with the town's remodeling. He also made sure to keep regular contact with his parents, so that they could be kept up to date with each other (minus Cameron's recent intimate moment).

Major Kyle's actions at the party were also a topic of conversation. The fact that he helped make alcohol "legal" for eighteen-year-olds was very popular, and there was also talk of changing more laws. Four or five people also talked about making marijuana legal—that made Cameron's roll his eyes in exasperation. It was too soon to make those kinds of controversial moves.

But what was of real interest to Cameron was another move that the National Guard was planning. During the first supply run Alpha truck had recovered a few survivors, and that more than likely meant there were more out there. After losing contact with Jules he knew how important it was to go out there and rescue people.

So, on top of going out on supply runs, he also volunteered to go out there and look for survivors. And to his slight surprise so did Marge.

Eventually the plan was put forth. The main team would consist of six people in a school bus that would be the main source of transport. Four other smaller cars with two people in each would explore the area and call in if they found anything.

Cameron was put into one of those car teams…along with Marge, who was given a crash course in shotgun use. They were put back into the Honda, which had been installed with a CB radio, and this time it was Marge behind the wheel. A map of the area was given to them to tell where to cover.

With that the search teams left the confines of Yuba.

"Well this is a surprise," Cameron commented, as they left the perimeter behind.

"What d'ya mean?" Marge asked.

"You have a kid. How come you're sticking your neck out like this?"

"Jack's fine."

"But you may not be," he reprimanded.

Marge bit her thumbnail. "Yeah…I know…but I can't help but imagine. What if Jack and me were some of those people stuck out there? Trapped for almost a month, surrounded by those things, low on food. I'd want someone—anyone—to come and help."

"Yeah, I get it," Cameron sighed, wishing he could've helped Jules.

The maps not only told them where to look for potential survivors, but also what areas they should avoid all together. Densely populated areas and frequently used roads were all circled in red. Facing a horde or two of zombies wasn't considered much of a big deal since all they had to do was out run it. But run into a cluster fuck of them, and consider yourself a goner. Gas wasn't an issue either, since each vehicle was topped off and none of them were going _that_ far away.

Together they drove to their designated areas, and drove through neighborhoods as slowly as they dared. They did their best to look through every window, looking for any possible survivors. But moving too slow meant that they could get overran by the surrounding zombies.

If one did become a problem, all Cameron had to do was open the sunroof, aim his rifle out of it, and blow its brains out. Unfortunately all that did was alert more to their presence, so they had to speed through the neighborhoods faster.

And while they were up to that, every once in a while the radio crackled. It was always one of the other teams calling in that they found survivors, and then they'd give their location so that the bus could get back them up.

But for Cameron and Marge it was just a few hours of driving around, and putting an X over every location that didn't have any living people. Overall a boring day not counting the rabid, cannibalistic monsters that were after their flesh.

"This is Yuba," the radio crackled. "Good work out there people. Call it a day and head back. Over."

"Scout 1. We copy. Over," said another voice.

"Scout 5. Over 'n' out."

"Scout 4. Headin' home. Over."

"Scout 2. Understood. Over."

Cameron was about to respond to the call, when Marge blocked him.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Let's say we're double checking a place."

"Why?"

"What? We can have a quick fuck."

"Scout 3 to Yuba," Cameron immediately called in. "We think we spotted something. We'll be back soon. Over"

"Roger that. Out."

Marge found them a secluded spot that was zombie free. There was always the good chance that twenty or forty of the things would come out of nowhere, but at the moment Cameron's mind was on a single track.

But despite that, as they climbed into the back seat, Cameron had to ask, "I thought this was a one time deal."

"When did I say that?" she asked quizzically, unbuttoning her top. "You were a pretty good lay."

After a surprising and very efficient twenty minutes the two of them were done. They made out for a few minutes before getting dressed and climbing back to the front.

Marge started the car back up again, and they headed back to town. They cut through a neighborhood that they had already crossed off, but Cameron was still keeping an eye out.

And all of a sudden, he yelled, "Stop!" Through the second story window Cameron spotted two people leaning out the window screaming for help. The door to the house was busted in, so that could only mean there were zombies inside. Other doors to other houses were also wide open but those had amounted to nothing, so Cameron didn't make anything of it.

"Keep an eye out and call this in!" Cameron told Marge. Flipping the safety off his rifle, Cameron stormed out the car and made for the house.

_How did we miss them?_ Cameron wondered, outraged with the situation.

He did a quick left to right sweep at the front door. Carefully, he stepped in keeping his rifle up, ready to shoot a zombie at a moment's notice. He slowly made his way to the stairs, and he looked up to see a fuck load of zombies trying to get through the door at the top of the landing.

"Over here, you fucks!" Cameron shouted, firing a few rounds up at them. One fell down dead, and the rest turned their attention to Cameron and stampeded down the stairs.

Cameron retreated, firing at them every now and then. As those things got closer and closer, Cameron stepped farther and farther back, until he reached the front door and made a break for the Honda.


	18. The Rescue

Wrenching open the rear door, Cameron flung himself over the backseat. "Drive!" As Marge drove, he looked out the back window to see the receding zombies pour out of the house. There were a lot more than he thought. The car came to a stop at the end of the street and Marge made a U-turn.

"How long until back up comes?" Cameron asked.

"They said in twenty to thirty minutes."

He cursed.

Opening the sunroof again, Cameron stood up through it and aimed his rifle down at the approaching monsters. Trying to be as conservative as possible with his ammo, Cameron took one carefully aimed shot after another. Unfortunately the zombies were moving erratically, and were a lot farther away than any target Cameron ever had to hit. By the time his magazine ran out, only five zombies were taken down, with well over a dozen still running at him.

"Now what?" Marge asked frantically.

"Back to the house."

Cameron sat back down on the passenger seat and threw his useless rifle in the back. The organizers didn't think they'd need more than one magazine. As Marge raced back to the house, she tried to run over as many of those things as possible, but she only managed to take out one or two.

After coming to a stop, with the zombies once more behind them, Cameron grabbed his pistol and Marge her shotgun. They ran back into the house, where the two girls that flagged them down were waiting.

"Get back upstairs," Cameron ordered.

"But—"

"No buts—NOW!" They followed without further question.

The front door's lock was busted in, so when Cameron shut it he and Marge had to haphazardly push the couch, table, and anything else in front of it. All too soon the zombies were back, and slammed themselves against the front door. The furniture moved slightly but held. The two of them raised their weapons, ready to fire as soon the zombies broke through.

"You go up, too," Cameron told Marge.

"What?"

"Go up there, too. I've got this covered."

"Like hell!" she argued.

"Dammit, Marge, you have a kid! Go upstairs!"

"I'm not leaving you here!"

"That's an order!"

"Who the fuck do you think are you ordering me around!"

They argued like that for a good minute when the door opened further, and the zombie growls got louder. Cameron raised his pistol to head height, and let off half the rounds through the door. It didn't seem to have any effect.

Finally, the furniture gave way, and the zombies poured in. Cameron let off the rest of his rounds, and Marge began using her shotgun. The recoil was a bit much for her, and it was seconds between shot.

The both of them pulled back, and ran into a bathroom. As Cameron tried to close the door, one of the things managed to get its arm though.

"Blow its fucking arm off!" he yelled desperately.

Not needing to be told twice, Marge shot the arm, splattering it, and allowing Cameron to shut the door completely. Keeping his back against the door, he planted his foot against the wall, breathing heavily. So here Cameron and Marge were, stuck in a bathroom, engulfed in darkness, with ravenous zombies on the other side of the door. The only comfort he had was that all those things were probably focusing on him, and leaving the girls upstairs alone…. But they weren't just focusing on him, Marge was right there with him.

"For fuck's sake, Marge, why didn't you listen to me!" he raged.

"I wasn't going to leave you alone," she explained, trying to stay calm. "What kind of bitch do you take me for?"

"Jack doesn't need you to risk your life like this," Cameron said angrily. "He's your only family."

Seeing as it was dark, Cameron didn't see her close the gap between them to hug him. "You're my family too, Cam. You were there for me and my son."

No longer seeing any reason to argue, Cameron kissed her forehead. "Thanks…but that doesn't change the fact that we're potentially fucked."

They waited there for ten grueling minutes, when blessedly the sounds of gunfire were heard from outside. The banging against the door eventually stopped, and the moaning disappeared.

"Think it's over?" Cameron asked.

"Only one way to find out." Raising her shotgun, Marge turned the doorknob, and slowly opened the door. A quick sweep told them that no zombies were around. But looking outside, Cameron saw as the last zombie had its brains blown out. The bus had finally arrived.

"Marge!" Dennis Bright called out delightedly.

"Glad to see you joined the party," Marge called back.

"Have any extra pistol ammo?" Cameron asked.

"Sure thing." Dennis extracted a magazine from his pocket, and tossed it to Cameron, who swapped it out for the empty one in his gun. "Where are the survivors?"

"I'm getting them now."

Going back in the house, he raised the gun as he went upstairs. One could never be too careful. The hallway was clear, so Cameron knocked the bedroom door.

"Is if safe?" one of the girls called out.

"Yeah."

When the door opened, the older of the two girls flung out and embraced Cameron. Her brown hair was lanky, her skin semi-sunken, and there were bags under her eyes—and the other one looked to be in the same shape. But then again who'd look like a million bucks after what they went though?

"Thank you!" she cried, hugging him so hard he could barely breath. "Thank you so much!"

"What about Dad?" the younger asked tearfully. She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen.

"I'm right here."

Looking behind him, Cameron saw a man emerge from one of the other rooms. He was pale and sickly looking with a bite mark on his arm. _Shit_. All the same the man still hugged his daughters when they ran up to him.

"Oh god, you look awful," the older one said. She turned to Cameron. "You have medicine back where we're going, right?"

Hesitating, he shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, but we have no cure for bites."

"What does that mean?" the father asked, all relief draining away.

"You'll become one of them soon enough. We can't take you with us." It was heartbreaking for Cameron to tell them this, but he had no other choice.

"Cam?" Marge called.

"You can go with her," Cameron told the girls. "I'll stay with your dad."

"What're you gonna do?" the older one him asked fearfully. The answer was written all over Cameron's face. "You can't! He's all we have!"

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely but firmly. "I truly am. But there's no other choice."

"There's has to be some other way," the father said desperately. "Please. They already lost their mother."

"Like it or not, you're gonna end up turning into one of those things," Cameron stated. "Do you really wanna let your daughters see you like that?"

"Look here!" the older one raged, getting into his face. "We aren't—"

"Becky, he's right," the father interrupted sadly. "Go, please. No! You have to go with Sarah. I love you both so much—but that's why you have to leave me! GO!"

With much persuading, the two girls finally let go of their father, and left tearfully with Marge. Cameron told her to go on without him, saying that he'd take the Honda back.

He heard the bus turn on and leave, leaving Cameron alone with the man.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"Well," Cameron started, his mouth severely dry, "I can shoot you now, you can shoot yourself…or I shoot you after you die." _Oh god, please don't pick the first one_.

"Not much of a choice, so the third sounds good…. Well follow me." He led Cameron to the master bedroom, where he went to the dresser and took out a pack of cigarettes. "I promised my family I'd quit, but that doesn't matter anymore, does it?" He smacked one out and then offered one to Cameron. Cameron didn't smoke, but it would've been insulting to refuse.

"Dave's the name," he announced, lighting the cigarette.

"Cameron."

Dave sat on the floor, back against the wall and took a drag from his cigarette. "So," he started, "how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

He frowned. "Damn, a year younger than my Becky, but it'll have to do." Cameron's response was a questioning look. "Can you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" he asked. Cameron was not about to agree to a dying man's wish until he knew what it was.

"Make sure my girls move on."

Cameron nodded. "I'll try."

The rest of the time they stayed there in silence waiting for the inevitable. When Dave was half way done, his head drooped to the side, the cigarette fell out of his mouth, and his breathing ceased.

Stubbing out his own cigarette, Cameron aimed the pistol at Dave's head and pulled the trigger.


	19. Women

Becky and Sarah Robinson, it turned out, had an aunt that lived in Yuba. Room was made for them, and like many of the survivors that lost loved ones so tragically, they wouldn't speak to anybody for days. From what Cameron heard they simply lamented that they couldn't just keep the zombies out until help had arrived.

The things had broken into their home only five hours before Cameron and Marge's arrival. Their father distracted the zombies long enough to for them to get to safety, and then he was somehow able to shut himself in another room.

The girls had been so overwhelmed with worry that they didn't keep an eye on the window, so they had missed Cameron and Marge's first inspection. It turned out rather lucky for them that he and Marge had decided to get it on; otherwise Becky and Sarah might've been missed completely.

Despite the promise he made to their father, Cameron knew they needed time to grieve. So, he focused on the projects that the military leaders had in the works. The first was a response to dwindling supplies of ammunition…and it was a suicide mission. Their best bet at a base with a limited amount of possible zombies was in Monroe—almost a hundred miles to the south, and not that far from Illinois.

Cameron wanted to stab somebody's eye out. The Commander and those around him were seriously considering striking a depot in the direction that Cameron had come from in the first place. Nothing was being set into stone, but it was only a matter of time.

But that wasn't all. The other project that they had in the works involved just about every construction site in the surrounding area. Those trucks weren't going to last forever, and people wanted to salvage construction supplies, and raw materials so that they could build a wall around Yuba—and possibly expand their perimeter.

That plan Cameron didn't have as much of a problem with. Not only would they be safer, but they could also build more homes for their growing population.

Until those plans were finalized, though, Cameron only had the occasional supply run to deal with, along with other (less complicated) rescue operations. Also, Marge and Cameron would meet up in the bathroom in secret every once in a while so that they could take care of any needs that they might have.

Unfortunately, a few weeks after the rescue of the Robinson sisters, after another successful session in the bathroom, Marge said to Cameron as she buttoned up, "I think that this should be the last time."

Was he disappointed? Yes. But he tried not to show it. After all, it was simply physical, so either of them had the right to call it off at any time. "Okay. Any reason why?"

"We both know this is casual…but we're building lives here. And a lot of times building a life means sharing it someone else," she explained. "So, we have to keep ourselves a hundred percent open for anybody else."

Cameron couldn't help but smirk. "Dennis asked you out, huh?"

"I didn't say yes," she admitted. "Still it made me realize we gotta stop this."

"No prob."

"Still friends?"

"Of course," Cameron answered obviously. Normally the "F" word would tear a man's heart out, but not in this case.

"Don't worry," Marge said to him optimistically. "You'll get back in the saddle in no time. Becky has the hots for ya, y'know."

Cameron grumbled. True enough that when Becky and her sister eventually came out of their shell, Becky started following him around like a sick puppy. When Cameron had patrol duty, she was right there with him. When she volunteered to be a rifleman ("rifleperson" was the politically correct term around town), Becky insisted that Cameron gave her private lessons. Another other menial task that Cameron had to perform? Becky was right there.

Now he figured that either she thought Cameron was genuinely cute, he looked badass the way he killed those zombies, or based off the way she acted at first maybe she was waiting for the right time to take revenge for her father—who was one reason he paid her so much attention.

Whatever the case Cameron didn't know how to respond properly. Was Becky cute? Sure, he didn't have anything against the way she looked. Good personality? Hasn't shown any signs of being a total bitch so far (she was obviously angry during their first encounter).

As for Sarah, she was a different story entirely. Thankfully in her case, Cameron hadn't had to invoke his promise to help her move on. She did that on her own by finding and hanging out with a group of kids her own age. Technically, Cameron was in that same age group—but he was a few years older, and they were too young to be volunteers. Other than the exchange of a few words, they didn't have much to do with each other.

It was the day after Marge put an end to the arrangement, and Cameron was back at the shooting range, giving more shooting lessons to Becky. He swore, she was must've purposely positioned herself in a bad stance just so he could correct her.

"You know this," he told her patiently, moving her arms. "And the hips should be just so." Cameron put his hands on her hips to turn them. "Now, take your time, aim, and squeeze the trigger."

The round went off, hitting the target.

"Great."

Becky squealed just like the past thirty or so times she managed to hit the target, and pounced on Cameron to hug him. But this time it was different. Instead of letting go, she pulled back a bit to look him in the eyes. Looking back, Cameron took in her curly, brown hair, and clear blue eyes. The time she spent recuperating since being rescued had done wonders for her. Yeah, she was pretty damn cute. Then, ever so slowly, she began closing the gap between their lips.

In the few seconds Cameron had before he could possibly pull away, a million things were running through his mind. Was this right? The arrangement with Marge had, after all, only just ended. Would he ever be able to answer her feelings? Was she merely just dependent on Cameron because of what he did for her? They only just met. If Cameron did hook up with her would that make him lucky, a player, or an asshole? Surely an asshole, Cameron concluded. He had to stop this.

Too late. Before Cameron could get a single word out their lips met, and upon contact an electrical sensation traveled throughout him. Becky began moving her lips around, and automatically so did Cameron. Soon enough they were frenching out there in the open—and Cameron had to admit that it was nice that it didn't have to be a secret. They moved their hands over each other, pulling one another closer, the kiss becoming more passionate.

When they were done, she smiled sheepishly with small "Sorry."

"Don't be," said Cameron breathlessly. _Goddamn!_ Marge had been just a good a kisser, if not better, but there was never that spark he just felt.

"Look, uh, I've been too nervous to ask…but what happened when my dad…y'know."

Cameron didn't know whether or not he should find that question surprising, but he answered anyway. "I, uh, shot him after he died from the bite."

"Anything else?"

"Well," he started a little reluctantly, "he did ask me to make sure you and your sister were okay."

"So _that's_ why you've been putting up with me," Becky declared, though that didn't seem to upset her.

"I haven't been 'putting up' with anything," he sort of lied. "Only a dickhead would've ignored you."

Becky kissed him again. "Thanks, Cam."

At that point Cameron had to clear something up. "I gotta ask: why me? There are other guys in town."_ And they're clearly interested in you,_ he didn't add.

"But none of them were there to save me and my sister," she answered, smiling.

"There have to be other reasons," Cameron insisted, pushing away some.

"And if there aren't then over time it'll become obvious," she said, pulling him back. "But until then is it illegal to crush on someone that helped save you?"

_Meh, what the hell. _Seeing no reason to fight it, Cameron simply smiled at her, and they started making out again. Marge had, after all, broken it off to keep their options open, so why not give it a shot? And if Becky was going to wait for a legitimate reason to like him, then Cameron could do the same thing for her. Besides, she was one hell of a kisser.

Things seemed to be going well at that point, until two days later when it was time for another supply run. When Cameron and everybody else found out where they were headed, they were not happy.


	20. Sea of the Undead

Madison, Wisconsin. Which shit head's bright idea was it to try and salvage an entire shopping center, near what had to be one of the most populated cities in the state? It would most likely take almost all of what was left of the ammunition stock. Cameron wished more people had backed out, so that he wouldn't feel bad about doing so either.

Hell, even if only Horace had refused to go, then Cameron would've been right behind him. It was only made worse by the fact that Becky was right there next to Cameron hearing the insane plan. But then again with a population nearing two hundred fifty, such a risk might just be worth it.

But of course the military leaders could be using this as an opportunity to see if a trip to Monroe's National Guard armory was feasible.

"Be careful," Marge told Cameron, giving him a back breaking hug. "Now more than ever." She knew the danger that was at hand, too—and if she was scared, then there was definitely trouble at hand.

"I will be," Cameron reassured her.

"And are you sure that Becky should be going?" she asked him, lowering her voice. "She's still a rookie."

"I know," he said, concerned. "But she won't listen to me."

"Bye, Uncle Cam."

"See ya, Jack." Cameron picked up the kid to give him a good hug.

"So long, Marge," Dennis said hopefully, walking up to their small group.

"Bye," Marge replied. She appeared to be in thought, then said, "Tell you what: bring back a beer for me, and we'll have a drink."

"Deal!" Dennis agreed enthusiastically.

A whistle blew signaling everybody to get on board the trucks. Cameron, Horace, and Becky all boarded Delta. A new one, Echo, was added to the roster. Inside each truck as even more ammunition than usual, as well as extra rations. It was not going to be a fun venture.

Over two hours they spent in the back of that truck. Taking the main roads would've cut a half hour from the trip, but that obviously wasn't possible. Cameron saw that almost everybody was even tenser than that first trip to the super market. He didn't blame them, since he was the same.

All too soon, there was banging growling coming from the outside, which made him want to vomit—one person actually did. The trucks did the familiar shifting move as they got into formation to make a large circle. And when the truck's engine noises ceased, that was the cue for everyone to climb up the rope ladder.

The stench was overwhelming when Cameron climbed through hatch to the roof of the truck. All around him was the largest sea of the undead yet. Up ahead was a Target, along with other surrounding shops.

"Fuck me," Cameron hissed, cocking his gun. He began, as usual, with the zombies stuck in the middle of the trucks.

"Cam," Becky said, sounding frightened.

"We'll get through this, just shoot," Cameron told her, picking off zombies. She should be fine. After all, to qualify you had to shoot a zombie and a child zombie.

"But I'm scared!"

Cameron stopped his shooting to look over at her. He wasn't angry, he understood. If being stuck in that house for a month, surrounded by a dozen or so zombies, was terrifying, then the current situation was worse. And if that wasn't bad enough more and more of them were pouring in from the surrounding area.

"If you can't, then just hand me your rifle, and go back down. We aren't leaving until all these things are dead."

Becky looked to be seriously considering that option, but she firmed up and pointed her rifle down. Her shots were a bit off, but for the most part she was getting the job done.

"I'll be right here," Cameron reassured her, going back to the killing.

The fact that the trucks were being rocked back and forth was making things even worse for everyone on Alpha through Echo. People were losing their nerve, having to go down the trucks to take a breather; a few were begging the people in charge to abandon the mission.

But even Cameron knew that that was not going to happen. Abandon the plan now, and risk thousands of zombies following them back to Yuba.

For hours, hours upon hours, they were perched in the middle of that sea of undead. What was normally at worst a six-hour killing spree was dragging on. After ten hours it didn't even look they made a dent. Though twice the trucks had to be moved to a new spot when the zombies were piling up.

Around sundown a bunch of people disembarked from the trucks to the cleared area in the middle. They moved all of the corpses to one side, and made an area for people to catch some rest in. Also, lights were set up to illuminate the area to make the zombie killing easier as it got dark.

Around ten at night, Cameron got the sign to take a break. He traversed down the rope ladder, grabbed a snack, and lied down. Soon enough Becky crawled up next to him, and they were napping despite the constant sound of gunfire and zombie moans.

An hour and a half later they were woken up and told to get back to work. Slapping himself awake, Cameron got back up on top of the truck, reloaded his rifle, and went back to shooting.

When the sun rose the trucks had been moved three more times. Cameron was tired as hell, and he had to take more breaks.

At eight in the morning the things finally started thinning out. Only a few were appearing at a time now, so only twenty of the freshest possible people were keeping an eye out, while the rest had some R&R before it was time to enter the Target.

After two hours four of the trucks were lined up in front of the Target, while Bravo took survivor duty. Their hopes weren't high to find living people, but they had to try. Charlie and Echo stood watch outside, and Delta and Alpha prepared themselves to enter the store.

Cameron taped a flashlight to the underside of his rifle, and paired off with Becky and Horace as they stood in front of shattered glass doors—which were shot through the previous day to let out the zombies. Before anybody went in, a few fired their rifles wildly into the store.

That caught the attention of the remaining zombie within, and Cameron was ready as the things ran forward and were put down. Another minute and the signal was given for everyone to move forward.

"How can you stand this, Cam?" Becky asked, visibly shaking.

"I can't," he responded. "I just do it." He switched on his flashlight, and swept kept sweeping left and right. Behind him Horace and Becky covered the rear and sides.

From one of the aisles, Cameron spotted a zombie without legs crawl. As soon as it spotted them, it let out the usual howl and hastily crawled in their direction. Cameron took it out with no problem.

Before them on the wall to their left was a big, red door. Horace was able to turn the knob, but something was blocking the way on the other side.

"Hello?" he called, banging on the door. "Is anyone in there? It's safe now." There was no answer, and they couldn't just leave it unopened with the possibility of supplies being inside. So, Cameron and Horace put all their weight against the door, while Becky was ready to shoot any zombie that might attack.

Slowly, inch-by-inch, they managed to open it half way through and no monster tried to eat them. And the farther they got the door open, a stench emanating from inside got worse. Pointing his rifle/flashlight inside, Cameron stepped in. It was a storeroom, and on the floor were two people. One looked to be older than the other, and both of them were wearing the normal red Target shirt. The door had been blocked by one of the heavy shelves. Dropping his guard, Cameron ran in and checked each body for a pulse. It was faint but still there.

"Wake up," Cameron said loudly. "Hey! C'mon, we're getting you outta here."

The man stirred weakly, and eventually so did the other. Looking around, Cameron saw the floor was littered with wrappers, and in the corner was a pile of waste. They must've been feeding on nothing but the junk food available to them in the storeroom the entire time while breathing in that stench. Yeah, it was far from the healthiest living conditions, but at least they were alive.

"Let's go," Horace said, taking the younger one by the arm and hauling him up.

Cameron and Becky helped the older one up, and the three of them helped move the survivors back outside to the trucks. Cameron reached for the radio he hooked onto his pants so that he could call in the survivors. But before he had the chance the radio crackled.

"ALERT! ALERT!" the person on the other side shouted frantically, the sounds of gunfire in the background. "Oh fuck! We've got a shit load of infected approaching! Repeat! A shit load of infected are incoming! Get your asses back here!"

_Son of a bitch_, Cameron thought in despair.


	21. The Madison Disaster

After the call came in, them and everybody else in the store ran back outside. It was slower going for Cameron, Horace, and Becky as they were carrying survivors. When they finally did make it back outside, Cameron saw a large queue of people trying to make it back up the trucks at the same time, while others on the ground were shooting at the rapidly approaching zombies—probably because they saw no point in adding to the congestion.

"Make way!" Cameron shouted, pushing his way through the throng of people. "God dammit, make way! I have survivors here—and they get priority!" Eventually they made it back to the rope ladder, where others helped him get the two barely conscious men up the on the truck. He might have wanted to open the doors of the trucks, but that would probably let in zombies.

When the two men got up, Cameron called Becky forward, and made sure that she went up too. As she started climbing up, Cameron tried to immediately follow, but he was pushed out of the way. He tried again, but was met with similar results.

"Cam!" Becky shouted hysterically over the edge of the truck.

"Pass me some ammo!" he told her, making a decision. Becky tossed a magazine over the edge two seconds later, and Cameron caught it, sticking it in his back pocket. With that, he stepped into the open to face the approaching zombies along with the some of the others.

Cameron raised his rifle, picked his oncoming target, and fired. The monsters may have been taking fire from both the people on the ground and on the trucks, but it was such a large mass that it didn't do much.

Finally, at one point, it was time to retreat. When they were only five car lengths away, Cameron turned tail and ran back into the Target. As he ran, he looked behind him to see what others were doing. Most ran into the store with him, but a significant amount tried to get up those rope ladders—a foolhardy decision. Most just ended up being pulled back down and feasted upon.

But the fresh meals didn't deter all the zombies. A lot of them gave chase to those fleeing into the store. Cameron simply kept on running.

When he found himself in an open enough area, he decided to turn around to face the monsters. Cameron shot off perfectly aimed headshots to those that were closest, and began to back away while he kept on firing.

In no time the magazine he was using ran out, and he had to swap it out for the new one. Throughout the rest of the store he heard others trying to make valiant last stands. He was about to resign himself to be one of those people when he remembered the storeroom.

Firing a few more times for good measure, Cameron once again broke into a run. He turned around every once in a while to shoot any zombie he sensed was getting too close, and eventually he ran out of ammo again. _Fuck_, he thought, slinging the useless rifle over his shoulders and breaking out his pistol.

He finally made it back to the storeroom. Cameron was about to go in and lock himself inside, when he heard someone shout from behind, "KEEP THAT FUCKING DOOR OPEN!" It was Horace and he was running from four zombies that were on his tail.

Raising his pistol, Cameron tried to shoot the monsters behind Horace, but he really did suck out loud with that gun. He managed to empty half his rounds, and kill only one by the time Horace joined him inside and closed the door behind them.

Panting, together they moved the shelf back to the door, to effectively keep out the savages outside.

"Shit, that was close," Cameron breathed, as pissed off, rabid zombies banged against the door.

"Too close." Normally, that statement would mean that he agreed…but sounded like he disagreed.

"What do you mean?" Cameron inquired.

"This," Horace answered. What "this" was Cameron couldn't see since it was pitch black. So, he removed the flashlight from his rifle, and pointed it in Horace's direction. "Fuckin' A."

Fuckin' A was right. On Horace's left hand was a horrible bite mark.

"I'm such a shit head," he said, crying softly. "I thought I'd be able to climb up, but—but before I realized it the fuckers were on me." Horace lowered his head and began to cry even more.

Other than Marge, Horace was the closest thing that Cameron had to a best friend in Yuba—and he liked to think that he, Horace, thought of Cameron the same way. It was hard to just stand there and watch the man knowing he would die. Horace had fled all the way from Oshkosh, survived two months in Yuba, and now the zombies finally got him.

"It's not your fault," Cameron said firmly. "Blame whoever had the bright idea to come out here in the first place!" Cameron certainly did. Madison! Why would they send them to Madison?

"I don't wanna turn into one of those things," Horace cried.

"Well," Cameron replied, his mouth drying up again, "you know your choices." Shoot yourself, be shot, or wait until you die and be shot. Cameron hated that those were the only things a bitten person could choose between.

"Gimme the fucking gun," Horace declared, extending his hand.

After giving him the pistol, Cameron turned off the light, sat in a corner, and bowed his head. Soon enough he expected to hear a resounding bang, signifying that his friend was gone. But for the next few minutes all he heard was the clinking sound of teeth, some mumbling, and cries of frustration. Cameron didn't want to turn the light on again to see what Horace was doing, but the same time he couldn't risk him reanimating right in the room, especially without a gun. Yes, Cameron carried his knife, the same knife that he used for his first kill, but he didn't fancy having to use it again.

"Horace?" Cameron asked hesitantly, turning his flashlight on again.

"I can't do it," he said, blubbering and sliding the gun away. "I can't fucking do it! God, I'm such a pussy!"

"You're not!" Cameron told him firmly. "Dammit, you know how ballsy it is just to come out here in the first place?"

"But if I can't do it—"

"Not wanting to kill yourself isn't a weakness!" Cameron declared.

"Then what should I do?"

"You still have two more options," Cameron reminded him.

Horace thought long and hard, and with each passing minute his condition grew worse. "I," he finally said, "don't wanna turn into those things."

"You won't have to."

"No, I mean—I mean that I don't want to die with the possibility of coming back as a monster," he clarified.

Cameron just stared at him, now knowing what he was asking.

"I know I shouldn't be asking you this, but I really don't—"

"Stop," said Cameron raising his hand. "Horace, if we switched places I'd want you to do the same thing." Standing and walking over to his gun, he picked it up and aimed down at Horace. It shook in his hand, so he used the other to steady it. Cameron had killed countless full blown zombies, and one just before he had a chance to reanimate…but never before had he shot a person that was still living.

"Thanks, Cam," Horace said softly, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes.

"See you on the other side, buddy."

"Here's hoping."

Cameron pulled the trigger.

Two and half hours later a knocking came at the door. Tossing aside his Twinkie, Cameron moved the shelf, and Dennis Bright along with Isturez came in.

"Cam!" Dennis greeted joyfully. "Glad to see you made it! Phew! What's the smell?"

Cameron jammed his thumb at the waste pile that he had to endure.

"Oh god," Istrurez said, looking sadly at Horace's dead body. "Well, Horace makes nineteen."

"That many?" Cameron asked in disdain. The Sergeant nodded.

The parking lot was simply paved with the bodies of the undead. Cameron was amazed that they had enough ammunition to kill every single one of them. The process of loading all the supplies on the trucks had started, but seeing as what Cameron just went through he was exempt.

As soon as Becky spotted Cameron, she let out a cry of relief, and kissed him so hard their teeth clacked—like lovers that haven't seen each other in two years, instead of a few hours. He would've put more energy into that kiss, but he was exhausted. So he simply sat down on the benches inside the truck and slept.


	22. Election Day

"The Madison Disaster" it was dubbed by most of the people back at Yuba. But it went by different names, such as "Intel's Fuck-Up" and (Cameron's personal favorite) "The Epic Fail." People were none too happy that the final body count was over twenty—that was almost a fourth of their fighting force.

But as for the fighters themselves, they were just glad to be back home after twenty-four hours of hell. Cameron had a long, happy reunion with Marge and Jack. Sarah and her aunt were not too far away hugging Becky hard. Dennis made a feeble attempt to greet Marge, but the mood was not right.

It wasn't long, though, before Becky managed to steal Cameron away. She led them back to her house, and locked him and her in one of the bedrooms, where the two of them had a good, long, passionate time.

Maybe Becky had a point, Cameron figured after they had finished. Despite only being together for a few days, the fact that Becky was the first one to look so relived to see him after being thought dead caused Cameron to feel a little more attached to her.

"Goddamn," she said, propping herself on her elbows. "I've had one or two guys older than you, and they didn't cut it. How much practice do you have at this?"

"Probably just the atmosphere," Cameron reasoned, pulling her close. In reality Marge had told him more than once how she liked it, and Cameron figured that similar principles applied.

Needless to say, Becky's aunt didn't exactly approve of their actions, but there was nothing she could do about it. Becky and Cameron were adults (not like age mattered all that much anymore), and they were part of the fighting force and she wasn't. When Cameron went home, and told Marge about it in idle conversation, she gave him a congratulatory arm punch, saying, "Told you so."

Over the next few days the citizens of Yuba called for blood. The Commander, even though it wasn't his idea in the first place, had the power to call bullshit on the venture to Madison—but the fact of the matter was that he didn't. He had everybody gather together, and spoke over a bullhorn.

The Commander said that he would step down as, what he coined, the de facto leader of the town, as soon as an election was held for a new one. Some of the locals immediately bitched and moaned, claiming that their own leaders never gave up power in the first place.

And so, those locals wanting their own people back in power became the first faction. The second one that sprang up only a couple of hours after the Commander's announcement, were people that Cameron largely tried to ignore.

Yuba, being the only known survivor's colony, had become the cultural epicenter of Wisconsin—possibly even the upper Midwest (the entire goddamn country, for all he knew). It drew in many people from different cultural and religious backgrounds. And for the most part everybody had virtually no problem putting aside their differences to make their new home successful.

But—and it was very big and very significant but—the people that Cameron had the most problems with her the hardcore Christian fundamentalists. They were the ones holding up signs outside saying "The End is Here", "Repent", and preaching from the gospel. For the most part Cameron ignored them, for there was work to be done. But many citizens that were wallowing in self-pity took in what those religious nut jobs spewed out.

Marge herself was Methodist, loud and proud, but she also lived in the "real world", as she liked to call it. And she knew the only way to survive was to get along.

She despised the lot of them and wouldn't have minded if they were kicked out. In the first week the daycare had been set up, it was the turn of the one of the more prominent religious people to watch the kids. When Marge came back to pick up Jack a few hours later, she found "that bitch" preaching to all the little kids how gays, heathens, and all non followers of Christ would end up burning in Hell. She almost ended up tearing off her face.

Even the local church's priest, who offered more sensible religious guidance, thought that those people were taking things way too far. "My grandpa was in the 101st Airborne fighting Hitler," he had told Cameron one day. "He fought against the kind of things those people are talking about."

And it was those fanatics that were rallying around their own candidate for the new leader of Yuba. Francine Decker was promising how she would make the town a Godlier place. If by some travesty she was elected, Cameron knew that there would be an immediate civil war—actually, more like a swift regime change. After all, barely any of those people were part of the volunteer squad, and didn't know how to use a gun.

Then there was the third, and probably most popular faction—the one Cameron was a part of. Sergeant Isturez had become a man of the people. He was there in town helping and even organizing things. Also he was right there on the frontlines taking out zombies. Isturez had the respect and admiration of just about everyone.

But at a gathering he was saying that maybe it wasn't such a good idea making him a candidate.

"Horse shit, Jim," someone in the crowd of supporters cried. "If it's not you, our votes are split—and that means one of the other two idiots might take over."

"Listen," Sergeant Jim Isturez said, raising his hand for silence, "I may not be the one who thought of going to that Target, but I do support the idea of going to Monroe! I know that most of you don't like that."

"It's gonna either be you, the bitch, or that other idiot!" Marge shouted. "C'mon, Sarge, we need it to be you!" Her words were met with applause.

"What about you, Kyle?" Isturez asked in one final attempt.

The Major shook his head. "No, people here depend on me to lead the troops. You're the one that has to take care of shit here on the home front."

"Fine, if not Kyle then there are other people higher up than me."

"But everyone wants _you!_" Kyle shouted. "Which is a fucking miracle, seeing as how you're taking this kicking and screaming."

Finally, Jim Isturez raised his hands up in defeat, gave in to the demands, and accepted his candidacy.

Two days later, after it was agreed that the voting age would include everyone that turned sixteen that year, the ballots were cast. Isturez won by a wide margin. Many people were pissed, but he appeased them a just a little by starting to build his cabinet. Major Kyle became his Defense advisor, and one of the locals (an engineer) was chosen as the Interior advisor. It was just the start, but it seemed to be going in the right direction.

And true to his word, Isturez did not abandon any plans to go to Monroe for that tempting cache of weapons and ammo. But in the mean time, all that was planned for replenishing their firepower was limited to local gun stores. At the same time the plan to expand Yuba's perimeter was getting started.


	23. Expansion

Thanks to the power of the Internet, dozens of construction sites and construction companies that were far enough from heavily populated areas were found. A plea was issued for any and all citizens that were capable of operating heavy machinery.

Soon enough every bulldozer, every cement truck, everything that could be used for construction was being parked just outside the perimeter. They even took the risk of going to a Home Depot to the east of them for all of its raw materials. Materials weren't the only things gathered, though. No one knew how much longer the power was going to hold out, so every generator and solar panel was salvaged as well.

It was a long, slow process to drive everything to Yuba. All in all, it took almost two weeks to gather enough materials.

But there was one problem that could possibly put an end to all of the plans to build a wall: the tree-strewn hill to their north. So, on top of all the materials they gathered, chainsaws were also being salvaged. When the town's resident tree huggers found out about that, they weren't happy.

Eventually, the order was given to perform a sweep of the hill to clear it of any and all possible zombies.

Cameron and half the riflemen (and women) stood on top of the trucks on the northern perimeter facing the trees. Next to him was, of course, Becky. Inside each truck that made up that part of the wall was someone in the driver's seat.

His heart was beating rapidly. Never before did he shoot in such enclosed and uneven terrain.

"I wonder if we'll ever have a date that doesn't involve zombies," Becky sighed.

"Tell ya what," Cameron offered, "on the next supply run we'll get a DVD player, then raid a Blockbuster. Sound good?"

She smiled. "Sounds great. How about we watch 28 Days Later?" The two of them looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

"Yeah, I don't fucking think so," he responded, still chuckling.

Becky wiped away a tear, and said a little seriously, "Well, what I really wanna see is Titanic. I haven't seen it in so long."

Cameron rolled his eyes. What was it with chicks and Titanic? "Okay, but in return we're definitely watching Boondock Saints _and_ Underworld."

"That vampire movie?" she asked, taken back a bit. "You like that kind of stuff?"

"No, it's just a good movie." _Plus, Kate Beckinsale is a hottie_, he didn't add.

The two of them continued to discuss what they might want to see, when the radio crackled. "Okay," Major Kyle's voice said, "make some noise."

All at once, every truck rumbled to life with loud roars, and each one blew its horns. The noise was deafening, but everybody had put in earplugs so it wouldn't be that bad. Immediately tons of zombies came pouring down the hill through the trees, and the work began.

Every person had a pole with a broken bottle or some kind of other sharp object attached. Cameron got down on his knees, and started to stab down at every zombie within reach, while Becky was grabbing his belt to make sure he didn't fall. Every five minutes or so the horns would honk again on the off chance that any zombies didn't immediately come running. And when Cameron's, or anybody else's arm got sore, they would switch with their partner.

Eventually all the zombies that had come to them were dead. The horns kept on honking for good measure, but after a half hour nothing more appeared.

"Alright, people, get ready," the radio crackled.

Inhaling and exhaling hard, Cameron picked up his rifle and strapped it to his over his shoulder.

"Careful, Cam," Becky said, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

He's been hearing that a lot lately, but he agreed nonetheless. Tossing a rope over the edge, Cameron traversed down it over the chain link fence and stepping onto the dead bodies. Once he gained his balance, he and the others that came down too trained their rifles forward. Up on the trucks, people stayed so that they could take care of any zombie that snuck past the line.

The radio came on again: "Forward, people. Nice and slow."

Gulping hard, Cameron moved forward one step at a time, keeping his rifle at the ready. There was always the chance that a crawler was just lagging behind, or maybe caught in something—hell, a bitten person might've taken refuge in a tree and reanimated up there.

There was only twenty feet between each person down the line. That line ran down from the field that was used as the shooting range to the road that ran north and south. But as the line moved farther forward, the more they naturally began to separate due to the curve of the hill.

"AH FUCK!" Cameron heard, followed by two bullets being fired.

Breaking formation, Cameron ran in the direction of the shout. Up ahead he saw man (Louis, he recalled vaguely) lying on the ground next to zombie that had a leg missing. Up ahead, a woman came running up too with her rifle up.

"Fuck," Louis breathed, clutching his bleeding leg. The crawler must've snuck up on the poor guy.

Cameron and the woman (_Kelly?_ Cameron thought), just stared at each other and then down at Louis.

"You know the options," Kelly said, sounding sorry and pointing her rifle at Louis.

Instead, he found a fourth option and began limping away as quickly as his leg would allow him. Neither Cameron nor Kelly had the heart to shoot him from behind.

"Louis' been bitten," she called into her radio. "Watch out for him. Sheila out."

_Sheila was her name_, he now remembered.

"Get back to work, Cam," she told him, making him feel like an asshole for remembering his name.

As Cameron repositioned himself to compensate for the loss of Louis, he suddenly realized how little of an affect what just happened had on him. _Dammit_, he thought. Cameron did not want to start forgetting that bitten people were still humans until they reanimated, but at the same time one couldn't afford pity in a tight situation.

In zombie movies the main characters quickly learned that it was kill or be eaten—even if you had to kill your own. But it took Cameron longer to learn that you had to shoot anybody that's been infected without hesitation. Just now they let Louis go only because they knew that he wasn't going to pose much of a threat. Either he would run far away, reanimate, and eventually be put down; or run into someone who will do the deed before the reanimation occurs.

Soon enough he reached the top of the incline, and once again started to descend. Training his rifle downward, Cameron was once again glad to live in such a rural area. Any closer to civilization and even more zombies might be lurking in the woods.

The instructions were to keep on moving for one thousand feet, or until one reached the end of the woods on the other side of the hill. Cameron stopped at the former. In front of him was another field, and to his right the hill and trees continued. One-by-one people exited the woods as well.

"Marsh here. I'm done," he said into his radio.

Once everybody (minus one) had checked, the order came in over the radio for reinforcements to line the new perimeter. When Becky came through, it was Cameron that pulled her in so that they could kiss.

For the plan a shit load of abandoned trucks were scavenged from the deserted roads, and brought in. Over the next few hours the trucks were being parked, creating a whole new, and larger perimeter. To the northwest the new truck wall started at the creek and grew in length until it hit the trees all the way on the northeast, at the other end of the field.

It then turned south towards Cameron's right, where it stopped, once again, when trees got in the way. Cameron knew on the other side of the woods behind him another truck wall was being made. That created a gap between the walls, and it wasn't practical to try and get trucks to fit because the hill was too steep. After the trucks were in place, everybody was ordered to fall back to the inner wall.

The next day Cameron and everybody else were back on top of the inner wall next to the trees. The horns were honked once more, causing all zombies that wondered into the area overnight to come forward. It wasn't as tedious as the previous day, so soon enough the all clear was given again.

This time every rifleman trudged up the hill to the gap between the outer walls. There the shooters lined along the entire length to stand guard against any zombies, while in the distance the sounds of chainsaws were heard. All that wood wasn't being put to waste, though. The lumber was going to be saved up for later use. It took six grueling days of cutting down trees until a wide enough path was created through the woods…. The next step was digging out all those tree trunks.

It didn't take long for the entire thing to become extremely tiring to Cameron. Zombies were appearing less frequently, and all he was doing was standing around to the point of being careless. He really wished that he knew how to operate those machines. For god's sake, it took him a few weeks to learn how to use a damned gun, why not learn how to use a tractor?

Soon enough, however, something happened that sapped him out of his boredom.


	24. Unexpected Guests

Cameron just looked at her. "Seriously?" he asked, not wanting to believe his ears.

"Yeah," she sighed.

"Well…fuck!"

"I didn't tell them that you're the father, and the doc's staying quiet until I say so," Marge told him. This was now the third pregnancy in Yuba (the first that was conceived post Z-day, as Cameron liked to call it). And the doctor she was referring to was actually the National Guard's medic—they were able to grab some medical equipment for him during one of the supply runs (not from hospitals, though). The poor bastard, being the only person with medical experience, had been studying extensively to cover as many fields as he could.

"Are you sure it's mine?" Cameron had to ask, hoping that she had slept with Dennis at some point.

"The ultrasound confirmed that I'm almost eight weeks along…so yeah, it's yours." It was nighttime, so everyone in the house had gone to bed.

Despite the situation, Cameron couldn't help but laugh. "Funny, and here I thought things were going really smoothly for a zombie apocalypse." He made a motion to get down on one knee to ask the question that had to be asked—but Marge held him in place.

"We don't have to tell them it's yours," Marge offered. "Just be there for the kid."

"I'll be a father," Cameron said without argument. "It might end things between me and Becky but—"

"Look," Marge said soothingly, "if you and Becky are solid, she should understand that the small thing between us was in the past." She smiled. "I love you, Cam. I'm not just in love with you."

"Same here." He straightened up. "I suppose tomorrow I'll start looking for a new place." That mean he was moving into a tent. "And I better tell Becky tomorrow."

And that he was planning on doing. After a very subdued breakfast, Cameron left to take his shift with Becky. After the whole procedure to honk the horns to attract any possible zombies, they took their posts near the construction site.

The wall was being built.

As the two of them stood guard, Cameron tried time and again to say what had to be said. In the three weeks that they've been a couple, he found that he was very fond of her. In fact, he was fond enough of Becky that it would have simply felt wrong not to tell her about the pregnancy.

"Spit it out," Becky said casually. "I know there's something on your mind."

"Marge isn't my sister," Cameron finally said to her.

Becky just looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "I figured as much," she said slowly. "The two of you get along way too well."

_Really?_ Cameron thought, surprised. In the short time that they were together had she actually been able to figure him out so well? Maybe that was one reason he liked her as much as he did.

"But why are you telling…wait," Becky said, looking at his obviously guilty face. "You dumb bastard, you knocked her up, didn't you!" Yup, she definitely knew him.

"It was before you and me hooked up, I swear!" Cameron said desperately in defense. "We already ended it before then." That didn't look to appease her one bit.

"And when was the last time that the two of you fucked?" Becky asked, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Uh," he hesitated, knowing the answer wouldn't please her, "well…the night before you and I hooked up."

Becky slapped the shit out of him. "You were screwing someone else, while I spent those weeks trying to come on to you?" she shouted at him, making Cameron genuinely fear for his life. He nodded. "And you didn't say _anything_ to stop me?"

"But—but—"

"I'm gonna see if Celia wants to switch partners."

As he watched Becky storm away, Cameron realized that the two of them had a fight while standing in zombie country as if it were normal. What the fuck did the world come to? Not only that, but now he felt completely horrible over how things went, as if there was a pit sitting in his stomach.

"Becky's _pissed_," her replacement commented, appearing a minute later. "What happened?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

Dennis was probably the most shocked, surprised, and blown when news spread through Yuba. Cameron, who didn't want to rough it (as the story went), decided to pretend to be Marge's brother so he could sleep in a comfy house—_and_ to have easy access to her when he had an urge. Not only that, but after getting bored with Marge, he took advantage of Becky! God dammit, was he actually back in high school? By the end of the day "asshole" was Cameron's new nickname, and Marge was the victim because she was the pregnant one.

Thankfully, there was no denying that as the father he had to take responsibility, so he was pretty much forced to stay at the Harrison's. But the hardcore Christian community (and then some) was calling for Cameron's sinning ass to be tossed out of Yuba. It didn't happen, thank god, but it was still pretty bad. Marge tried to do some damage control, but to no avail.

Strangely, it wasn't the fact that Marge was pregnant that was making Cameron so upset. So they had a kid on the way. Yeah, it was a lot to take in, but there was no use crying over spilled milk. And it wasn't like it ruined his future—the zombies already took care of that. It was Becky. Why did it make him feel so bad to lose a girl that he only dated for half as long as he knew?

Also, if Cameron hadn't been feeling so lousy about loosing her, then he'd be more pissed at some of the people in town. After the zombie shock wore off, and Yuba started coming together, just about everyone had started following the "if it felt good do it" rule. Cameron and Marge were far from the only ones having themselves a good ol' fashion time. It was just because of their situation that they weren't able to take the necessary precautions. And by the time Cameron had found something beyond physical attraction, the past came back to bite him in the ass. Fate sure was a stingy bitch.

Probably the only person that didn't seem to take things in a bad way was Jack.

"Does that mean you're my dad now?" he asked, when Cameron had nothing better to do than attempt to teach the three-year-old how to play poker.

"You don't have to call me that," Cameron said to him. "See, you have three sixes and two queens. That's called a full house."

"But I want to call _someone_ dad," Jack pouted.

Cameron flinched. He forgot that his father died before Jack could remember him.

"Jack," he said, unsure how to handle the situation, "I would do anything for you and your mom—just like a dad. But your mom and I aren't getting married." That had been another issue. More than one person volunteered to hold the shotgun, but Marge made it clear that they had no such intention (Dennis had looked a bit relieved).

"So my brother will get to call you dad, but not me?" he asked, looking like he got the raw end of the deal.

"You could have a sister," Cameron said, avoiding the issue. "Now here I have two twos and two eights—that's a two pair." Jack wasn't paying attention and looked put out. He sighed. "Ask your mom if I can be your dad. If she says yes then I'll be fine with it."

Marge was going to give him hell for that later, but at least for now he didn't have to deal with it.

A few days passed since the truth came out. Not only was Cameron feeling miserable, but also he was bored out of his skull. Yawning, Cameron tried rubbing the heaviness from his eyelids. That day he was keeping watch over the town's western perimeter. Parked along the length of the small bridge, the personnel carrier he was standing in was the only thing blocking the road. Unlike the north and east, to Yuba's immediate south and west was a small river that served as a natural barrier. It wasn't much but it kept zombies out.

So that meant that the western road was also the most boring. The road forked right before him. One led straight ahead while the other turned south. Nothing was out there, not even a lone zombie.

That was probably one thing that people took for granted in zombie media. Once you carved yourself out a nice little niche (or at least it _was_ nice), and killing zombies became about as exciting as washing the dishes, things got _dull_. Oh sure, he could Google the nearest electronics store, get a car, and get himself a console along with some games—but there were a few drawbacks: One, it didn't get anything productive done; two, it would only entertain him for a little while; and three, it wasn't worth the risk.

He would've liked to go back to the construction site to keep guard, but that also meant he would have to deal with people shooting dirty looks at him.

A sound then caused him to perk his ears up. It got steadily louder before Cameron recognized it as a car. Looking south to his left, he indeed saw as a blue pickup truck drove closer and closer. Cameron couldn't help but be amazed.

It's been three months since the outbreak. All the higher ups, even Cameron, figured that all those that survived the first days were either dead or rescued. He watched as the pickup truck abruptly stopped at the sight of the personnel carrier. In the car was an old woman, and Cameron saw her jaw drop.

Getting out of the car, she asked desperately, "Is it safe here?"

Cameron knew the drill. It was done twice on him in the past, and to many others that found the community. "I'm sorry but you gotta take off your clothes," he explained calmly, raising his rifle. "We can't allow any bitten people in here."

"Is this really necessary?" she asked tensely.

"Beyond me it's infection-free. If we wanna keep it that way, we have to be careful."

Reluctantly, the woman undressed, and Cameron hopped off the personnel carrier to take a closer look. Pronouncing her clean, he called in the survivor through his radio, and proceeded to move the vehicle blocking the path.

Being the leader, Isturez was there to greet her after she parked her pickup.

"Welcome to Yuba," said Istrurez, with a warm handshake and a smile. "You must've come quite a distance, we didn't expect to see any other survivors out here."

"Well then you must not have been doing a very good job!" the old lady exclaimed, suddenly turning fierce. She pointed at the license plate on her truck—it read Wisconsin. "I'm from Lancaster! It's not two hours from here!"

"Really?" Isturez asked, flabbergasted. "How'd you manage to survive for so long?"

"Rationing," she answered, still angry. "The only reason I managed to escape at all is because my neighbor's door was broken in to, distracting all the things trying to get into my house."

"Do you think others are still alive?" he asked.

She nodded. "Definitely possible."

"Show me on a map."


	25. Lancaster

Another rescue operation was organized and Cameron eagerly signed up, once more ending up inside one of the scout cars. Marge wanted to go too, but being pregnant she was nagged out of it be just about everyone. Cameron had hoped that he would end up with Becky as his partner so they could talk things out, but she was put on the bus. When he attempted to call her out, she just threw him a look so cold it might've frozen the fiery lakes of hell. Instead, he got stuck with Dennis.

_Oh joy_. There was only one topic on his mind the entire way to Lancaster.

"So," Dennis started off rather awkwardly, "you and Marge are having a kid, eh? Congratulations."

"For god's sake, Dennis, there's nothing going on between me and Marge!" Cameron explained for the millionth time, while at the same time he followed the other cars.

"A kid isn't nothing," he rebutted.

"I'm gonna be a father to it, that part's been made perfectly clear. That doesn't mean I'm involved with her, though."

"Still—"

"When the two of us fucked, it was completely consensual on both parts—and completely _casual!_" Cameron interrupted, watching Dennis cringe a little. "Seriously, we broke it off after _you_ asked her out that first time."

"Because of me?" he asked, his face lighting up a bit.

"Yeah. Afterwards Becky came on to me, and I didn't have a reason to say no…. And then she dumped me," he added, feeling his heart sink. A zombie was crawling on the side of the road, so Cameron took the opportunity to take out his frustrations by running over its head. It actually made him feel a bit better.

"You know, it's funny how easily you've accepted being a dad, when you can't get over Becky ending it with you," Dennis commented, thoughtfully.

"I can't change Marge being pregnant—I _can_, however, try getting Becky back!"

Dennis looked at sympathetically. "You really like her, don't you?"

"No shit," he replied sourly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel so hard his knuckles blanched. Even before Becky dumped him other guys liked to chat her up, but ever since then the number of occurrences tripled. Whenever Cameron spotted that happening he was overcome with jealousy and rage. The only thing that kept him from lashing out at them was the knowledge that that would only make Becky even more pissed at him.

"Tell me why she broke up with you, exactly."

Cameron sighed. He did not want to have this conversation. "After I helped rescue Becky and her sis, she began coming on to me—only the thing is I was doing it with Marge during that time. Anyway, I _didn't_ tell Becky to back off back then, so now she's pissed about that." He didn't believe it was the full story, but it was something to work with.

Dennis then gripped Cameron's shoulder a bit and shook it sympathetically. "I'm sure you'll work things out," Dennis assured him.

"Thanks," said Cameron, sighing and deciding to throw him a bone. "And…I gotta say I sorta admire you for still crushing on Marge. I'm sure that'll be a plus in her books."

"I appreciate that, it really makes me feel better. Hey, if you ever wanna just talk I'm here for ya."

Cameron couldn't help but chuckle. "You're a bigger girl than Walsh and Perry put together."

"Oh very nice," he said smarmily.

Thankfully all of their energy was soon put back into survival.

As ordered, Cameron and Dennis circled around the town to the southeast section. Along the way, they noticed something rather strange. Every now and then there was a heap of corpses on the side of the road, almost as if people already began clearing the area of zombies. It didn't last long, however. The farther they drove into Lancaster the less frequent dead bodies became (not counting the ones moving around).

And so Cameron and Dennis began driving through each neighborhood street by street. They were mostly empty, having nothing around other than the scattered undead. For the next twenty minutes they searched, hoping for any possible survivors. If that old lady could last for so long, then maybe others could too.

When they began driving through a new street Cameron took in more odd sights. In front of one house was a fairly large pile of corpses, with a few others scattered along the neighborhood. Not only that, but in front of that house there were tire marks on the front lawn. They needed to do an investigation.

Making sure that they were far enough away from any zombies, the pair exited the car. Before going into the house, they quickly dispatched of the scant number undead in that street, using silencers to avoid attracting the attention of more in other parts.

"These tracks don't look more than two days old," Dennis observed, crouching at the tire marks on the lawn.

"Really?" Cameron asked, impressed.

Dennis snorted with laughter. "Nah, I'm just fucking with you," he admitted with cheap grin.

"Oh yeah, real funny," Cameron said sarcastically. "C'mon." Leading the way into the house, he became more cautious. First they swept through the ground floor, which was soon pronounced clear. Soon enough so was the upstairs.

It was a pigsty. Wrappers, cans, and all sorts of trash were littered all over the house. The kitchen was void of any edible food, and one room upstairs looked like it had been the dwelling for all of the house's former occupants.

Cameron had a bad feeling, almost as if the zombies outside were only just part of the problem. From the looks of things, it looked as if the people that lived in the house had been rescued. Corpses were piled up on the lawn, the kitchen was empty, and there was no sign of any dead human bodies that died of starvation. But instinctively he knew that wasn't the case.

It wasn't people from Yuba that had done the potential rescuing, which meant there had to be another colony out there somewhere…so why weren't they in contact with them?

"Cam," Dennis spoke up.

"Yeah?"

Dennis was frowning as he looked out the window. "I think someone is in that house across the street."

"You see somebody?"

"I think so."

Having little other choice, together they set off to take a look around that next house. Cameron tried opening the front door, but it was locked.

"Hello?" Dennis called, pounding on the door with his fist. "If anyone's in there, we're here to take you somewhere safe. Open up!"

No answer.

"Should we just go in?" asked Cameron.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Dennis replied.

The two of them went to the nearest window, and Cameron smashed it with the butt of his rifle. Being careful of the glass they climbed through, their rifles stayed at the ready. It was just a big a mess as the previous house, and all the furniture was moved to barricade the door. Only this time they weren't alone.

Peering upstairs, Cameron spotted the barrel of a gun pointed down at them. "Watch it!" he yelled, jumping out of the way with Dennis. Shotgun pellets peppered the spot on the floor where they were standing seconds ago.

He and Dennis scrambled for cover.

"What the fuck's your problem!" Cameron shouted from behind a doorframe. "We aren't infected!"

"Get out!" the man upstairs yelled.

"We're trying to help!" Dennis said, trying to reason with the man.

"Bullshit! I saw what your people did. You aren't taking my family too!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you've been here for months, right?" Dennis asked reasonably. "You have got to be low on food. Let us take you somewhere safe!"

"I don't believe you!"

"I'm going to the car to call for backup," Cameron told Dennis quietly.

"So I can be stuck here with that whacko? No thanks, I'll go."

"No, I'm going!"

"Fine, then," he declared, sticking out his left fist and right palm.

"Okay," Cameron agreed, doing the same. "One, two, three. Shoot!"

"Scissors. I win," Dennis said, leaving Cameron behind.

_Shit._ Now alone, Cameron had to think.

"Okay," he slowly said to the man, "tell me what happened. Because I know none of my people have ever been to this town."

"These men came drove in on a white van a few days back," the man started. "They cleared the monsters, and my neighbors opened their doors for them. But no sooner did they do that, than the men tied them up and threw them into the van."

"And why didn't they come after you?" asked Cameron.

"Because we didn't let them see us. They looked like trouble."

"I assure you that those weren't my people," Cameron promised him.

"Why should I believe you?"

What Cameron did next went against all common sense. He put his rifle and pistol on the ground, and kicked them towards the steps so that they went into the man's field of vision. "I'm not like them," he said, raising his hands and slowly leaving cover. "The place where I come from is fill with decent, hard-working people." _Mostly_, he didn't add.

"Please," Cameron begged, stepping onto the stairs and looking right up at him. The man was a black, wore glasses, and was little more than skin and bones. "We're here to help. The place I come from has plenty to go around. Let us take you there so you can be safe."

Then, ever so slowly, the man lowered his shotgun. A woman, and two children also appeared next to him. From the look in their eyes, Cameron knew that they knew that they were safe now.

Lowering his arms and smiling up at them, he said, "C'mon, a bus with food will be here shortly."


	26. Zombies and Girlfriends

Upon arriving back in Yuba, the man, his family, and a few others recounted the same tale of a group of bad looking people. Kyle took the necessary precautions to keep an eye out for such people, but other matters had to be attended to.

The Interior advisor told Isturez that if they didn't get more materials soon, the work that they began on the wall would be all for naught. So, all construction ceased, and everyone fell back to the interior wall so that the militia—that was what everybody was calling all the Guard and volunteers now—could gather more supplies.

So a few weeks after Lancaster, Cameron got into Delta as usual (Becky got in Bravo), and in the truck people _kept_ on giving him the stink eye. After he had said his good-byes to Marge and Jack, she looked even more anxious than all the other times before. They had a kid on the way, so it was understandable.

It was another risky venture—risky enough, in fact, that everyone stopped harassing him on the way there. The Home Depot was in Wisconsin Rapids, and as usual they were surrounded by a cluster fuck of zombies.

It was strange that going out on a supply run was actually a lot more pleasing to him than having to deal with the shit back home. Bang! Dead zombie. Bang! Dead zombie. Bang! Dead zombie. It was almost therapeutic.

_So fucking unfair_, Cameron thought, shooting the things with gusto. He should either be relaxing back at his house in Chicago, or partying somewhere like Daytona Beach. It was supposed to be the summer before he started college—but no! Here he was under the hot sun, firing a gun that he wouldn't have been able to handle just a few months ago! _AND IT WAS THEIR ENTIRE FUCKING FAULT!_

The rage surfaced even more. It was those zombie's fault his home was gone, their fault that his best friend died, their fault that he had to shoot his other friend, their fault that Cameron knocked up Marge, their fault that his girlfriend (_Ex, _he remembered) hated him, and their fault the life he built got fucked up! On top of it all, according to that family from Lancaster, there were most likely dangerous people lurking around.

All too soon the zombie's numbers dwindled.

Eventually the trucks lined up in front of the Home Depot. Cameron was even more pissed when it turned out Delta had guard duty with Alpha. He wanted to shoot more zombies!

When he got a break from looking for stray zombies, Cameron sat down inside the truck and grabbed himself some beef jerky. God he missed meat. Chewing, he took the opportunity to gather his thoughts, which were clear after taking out his frustration.

Okay, so what would make things better? Well the immediate answer was simple: getting back on Becky's good side. Forget about worrying about the baby, forget about the town hating him, and forget the hordes of zombies still out in the world. Cameron wanted Becky back. He had known that simple fact for a long time, yet he did almost nothing about it—or couldn't because he couldn't get time alone with her.

If that's what it took, then so be it. Cameron couldn't take going back to Yuba with things staying the way they were. Stuffing the rest of his food in his mouth, he climbed back up. Despite all the shit a small part of him felt good that his social problems were once again his main concern.

"I need to go inside," Cameron told the person in charge.

"What for?" he asked.

"I just gotta. Reprimand me later, but I'm going," he said, climbing down the side of the truck

"Fine with me, asshole."

Ignoring that he entered the Home Depot. Rifle up, he scoured the building for any sign of her. Some people spotted him walking by; confused because they knew he was on Delta. They tried to call him out, but Cameron simply ignored them.

"Becky!" Cameron whispered loudly, after finally tracking her down. "Becky! C'mon!"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she asked harshly. The two others with her stopped in their tracks, and looked at him in surprise.

"We need to talk," he told her.

"Fuck that! We're in the middle of something!" she hissed. The reaction he expected, but it proved he was persistent.

"I'll join you then."

"Go back!"

"No."

"Fine!"

So Cameron raised his rifle and helped cover the rear of Becky's group.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" Cameron asked her.

"When you actually are, Cam," she answered for the umpteenth time. "And will you shut the fuck up!" The people she was with were snickering. "Not the right moment."

What she had said was true, Cameron wasn't totally sorry. Despite knocking Marge up, he didn't regret sleeping with her. And he saw the fact that they (yes, _they_) broke it off the day before he got with Becky as pure chance. If he and Marge hadn't broke it off, then Cameron would've refused Becky's advances, because it wouldn't have been fair for her.

A growling noise suddenly came from above, and Cameron looked up just in time to see a zombie falling from one of the shelves. He got Becky out of the way, and watched as the thing landed on its head, splattering its brains.

"Thanks," she said.

"No prob."

Becky pulled away. "Don't think that's enough."

_Fuck_, he thought. First they had a fight while keeping an eye out for zombies—now Cameron was trying to get her back while hunting zombies. If the zombies themselves didn't prove that the world was messed up, that did.

After the full sweep of the Home Depot was completed it was time to take whatever supplies they needed. As Cameron helped load things up, he nonetheless pursued Becky. All the high school drama crap that he had despised and tried to avoid for four years had definitely caught up to him. But god dammit, it clearer now more than ever that he liked her. Why exactly? What made her so damn special? Why go through all this grief because of her? Who the hell knew—that's just how it worked sometimes.

It seemed that his torment had suddenly become a source of amusement for all those around. Some of them chuckled as they passed Cameron, others tried to give advice, and some still gave him a harder time than he was already having.

As the day passed Cameron decided to keep his mouth shut, and simply helped Becky with whatever she was doing. Thankfully she resigned herself to the persistent shadow breathing down her neck. Eventually a couple of the guys that liked chatting up Becky showed up, and offered to make Cameron back off. Angrily, Cameron's hand actually twitched towards his pistol—but Becky luckily told them off for trying to fight her battles for her.

"I wanna be with you, Becky," Cameron pleaded when he found himself alone with her near the power tools. "Please! Gimme another shot."

"Why the hell should I?" she argued harshly.

"I don't know. I'm only asking you to at least try! If you want me to beg, I'll beg."

"Just give me a reason!"

Cameron shut his mouth, and thought about what to say. "You're right. I should have told you to back off back then—but I don't regret it because then I wouldn't've been able to get to know you better."

"It's not just that, and you know it. I see how you two still act together—and you aren't even upset that she's pregnant," she accused.

"Is that what's bothering you?" Cameron asked, frowning slightly. "Marge is my friend," he explained sincerely. "Nothing's going to change that. In fact, right now it's more important than ever to stay friends. I admit I love her, but I'm not _in_ love with her. And as for the kid, it's coming…what's the point in fretting about it?" Becky just stared back at him silently.

"Listen," he went on anxiously, reaching forward to grab her hands. "Because of the kid most people would say the fact that you dumped was just collateral damage—to me it _was_ the damage." He squeezed her hands tighter. "I wanna be with you…. But if you hate my guts just say so and I'll leave you alone."

_Oh my god, I sound like a chick_, Cameron instantly realized. But he didn't care, he just kept his face set and waited for the answer.

"A few pretty words aren't going to help you," Becky choked.

"Just tell me if you hate me or not. Please." Repeating that made Cameron afraid. What if she did completely hate him? "I'm not giving up on you until you tell me."

Becky opened her mouth only to shut it, and she did that three more times. Finally, tears came out, and she just sobbed, "God dammit, Cam," before pulling him in to kiss him. He had a spring in his step the rest of the day, and he flipped his middle finger at those guys from before the first chance he got.

After the trucks, as well as spare trucks that they found, were filled to capacity, everybody loaded back into them ready to go home. Goddamn it felt good to leave. After feeling depressed, pissed, serious, and desperate all in just one day he was ready to head back home.

Back there things hadn't changed much: Marge was still very much pregnant and most of the town still deemed him an asshole. But being back on speaking terms with Becky was did help. She still didn't totally forgive Cameron, but it was still an improvement over her totally ignoring him.

Marge was glad to hear the news. The Harrison's didn't exactly approve, but they thought it best to stay out of it. Cameron then decided it was time to get another thing out of the way.

Cameron had installed a web cam onto the house's computer a while back so that he could web chat with his parents and whomever else he had found online. Never before had he done it with the owners of the house around, since it would've been a dead giveaway that Cameron and Marge weren't related—but it didn't matter anymore, did it?

He logged into his account, and soon enough the image of his father appeared on the screen. Thank god for laptops.

"Hi, Cam. Anything new?" It was actually old news that he's been putting off telling.

On his parent's end, the island of Kauai was slowly trying to become self-sufficient. It had a far larger population than Yuba, so without its regular importation it had been running low on supplies faster than other places. And similar to the supply runs Cameron's been doing, boats were taken off shore to the ships that were all denied entry in hopes of salvaging whatever possible.

"What? I can't call to say hi?" Cameron asked innocently.

"C'mon, spill it."

He sighed. "Is mom there?"

"Yeah, honey?" she asked, appearing on the screen.

"Yo, Marge," Cameron called. He had already introduced her to them long ago. After she joined him, Cameron laced his fingers, and said, "I'll just come out and say it: Marge and I slept together a few times, and as a result she's pregnant."

"WHAT!"

Cameron received an earful the rest of the night. After all, parents that were separated by five thousand miles of zombies and ocean were still parents.


	27. Kyle Doctrine

"C'mon, Cam, I think it's sexier if you leave it longer," Becky pleaded.

"Sexy enough that you'll let me in bed?" Cameron asked with a smirk.

Becky put her hands on his shoulders, put her lips next to his ear, and whispered, "I don't think so." She may have accepted the fact that someone else was carrying his kid, but was still punishing him for it. And while Cameron certainly would've _liked_ to resume that aspect of the relationship, he wasn't a douche and endlessly pushed for it. The fact that Becky was back by his side at all was more than enough for him.

"Take it all off, then."

"Fine," she pouted, turning on the razor picked up on the most recent supply run. Becky proceeded to shave off all of the hair off of Cameron's head.

In that zombified new world there was no need for neat, fancy haircuts, so people pretty much had two options: let their hair grow, or take it all off…. And Cameron hated long hair.

After a quick rinse in the shower, Cameron was ready to do another day of guard duty at the construction site. The wall was nearing completion on the east side of town. Everyone was hard at work so that the wall could start being built through the cleared section of the hill.

That was where Cameron was. He was simply in those woods with Becky ever alert for zombies. It may not have been as common for gunshots to be heard, but it wasn't alarming. But it was odd when many shots were fired, followed by some more. And they didn't stop either.

Cameron and Becky became more alert, both raising their rifles, looking for any targets.

"We've got hostiles!" the radio said. "Ah, fuck! I repeat we've got—" Another shot was heard in the distance, and simultaneously the radio transmission was cut off.

"What the fuck?" Cameron thought out loud.

"Hostiles?" Becky said.

"Wait," Cameron said, thinking back to that family from Lancaster, "could that possibly mean—?"

The bark on the tree next to Cameron suddenly burst into pieces, causing him and Becky to duck down and scramble around behind the tree. Still low, Cameron tried to peer around the tree but more bullets were fired at him, and he just barely got out of the way.

"We've got hostiles too!" Cameron shouted into his radio.

The woods around Cameron now sounded like a real battlefield. Not the one-sided killing of zombies, but man-to-man fighting. In hopes of fighting back, Cameron pointed his rifle around the tree and fired a few rounds blindly. Becky too looked around the tree to fire, but instantly pulled back when bullets came flying her way.

"I'll cover you," she said, blindly firing around the tree. "Try and flank the bastard!"

Nodding, Cameron ducked and ran when Becky fired at the aggressor. Before taking cover again, he spotted the son of a bitch. The bastard looked like one of those stereotypical douches that always rode around on Harleys—like the Hell's Angels or something. He had camouflage draped over his back, and under that was dirty and ragged clothing.

Cameron pointed his rifle to shoot him, but the prick already trained his rifle on him! Diving to take cover, Cameron ended up behind another tree, his jeans grazed by the gunfire.

"Do you see him?" Cameron asked.

"Yeah!" Becky responded

The two of them nodded at each other, and simultaneously they left their cover to fire down upon the enemy. Nowhere to go, the bastard tried to retreat, but Becky placed a few well-aimed rounds into that fucker's back. She and Cameron moved forward to check if the man was dead.

He was not. He was still breathing, so Becky ended his life with a round to the back of the head at point blank range. Cameron marveled at how long a way she came from that timid, but brave girl back at the Target.

Not saying anything to each other, they started quickly making their way back to town. But they didn't get far. Soon enough they started taking fire once more, and this time Cameron went down with a flesh wound to his right arm.

"Cam! C'mon, you can still run!" Becky screamed at him, trying to haul him up.

"Well, well, lookie here," a greasy voice said behind her. Cameron saw the man approaching, and Becky tried to swing her gun round, but the new enemy hit her on the head with the butt of his own rifle. She went down with a bloody bruise on the side of her forehead, but she was still conscious.

Cameron tried to take out his pistol, but the man already trained his gun on him. "I'm supposed to take as many of you wimps alive as possible, so let's not try to make this any harder than it has to be." The man reached behind Cameron to pull the pistol out from his belt.

"You got some?" another said, stepping into their clearing. The both of them were of the same breed as the first.

"Yeah."

"Oh, you're a cute one, ain't ya?" the new fucker said, putting his finger under Becky's chin and lifting her head up a bit. _Don't touch her!_ Cameron raged inside his head. "You 'n' me are gonna have some fun."

"Fuck off," was Becky's response.

Anger flashed through his eyes, and he slapped her across the face. "You'll be learning a new attitude soon enough," he promised her.

Cameron had never been more pissed off in his life. With both of their attention on Becky, he took his knife out of his pocket, and rammed it into the leg of the one that had shot him. The bastard screamed in pain, and the other looked over to see what had happened.

That gave Becky the chance to reach for her own pistol, and fire two rounds into the gut of the bastard that slapped her—followed by two more into the one that Cameron had stabbed.

The person that slapped Becky was still alive and bleeding profusely from the belly. He was trying to reach for his gun, but Cameron already stood up and stomped down on his hand. Looking down at the piece of shit with utter loathing, Cameron crouched down and said to him, "That's my girlfriend, you fuck!" And with even less empathy than he had for zombies, he plunged the knife right through the sternum into the enemy's heart. Slowly, Cameron watched with cold satisfaction as the enemy struggled, until he was finally dead.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked, helping Becky to her feet.

"Yeah," she said trying to stabilize herself. The bruise on her forehead was swelling and her lip was bleeding, but for the most part Becky was fine.

Cameron picked up his rifle, put his pistol back in his belt, and put his knife back into his pocket after wiping off the hostile's blood. His wound still hurt like none other, but if could walk he could fight. It was lucky they didn't check Becky for her pistol otherwise the two of them might've been done for.

They carried each other as they continued back to town. On the way they came across reinforcements. It turned out that the hostiles also tried attacking from the west, but the response on that side was a lot quicker. They were told to head back to town.

Cameron couldn't scale the trucks due to his arm, so they had to go around the perimeter and enter through the road. Once they made it to the clinic, they found more people that were worse for wear. They ranged from a flesh wound like Cameron's, to something that wouldn't stop bleeding. The medic was in over his head and had to call on others to help.

"Cam!"

Marge ran up to him, giving him a tight hug. Cameron returned it, grateful that not only did he and Becky make it through, but that Marge and the baby were safe too.

Becky was getting stitches and had an icepack on her head. Since his arm only had to be disinfected and bandaged, Cameron went back out. It might have been bad in that wooded hill, but the construction site was hit even harder. By the time he got there he saw bodies of both people he knew, and those of hostiles scattered throughout.

About two hours after the attack took place a quick head count was performed on everyone in town—both alive and dead. Nobody was missing. The casualty report was thirteen dead militia, six dead civilians, seventeen casualties, and twenty-six dead hostiles…with one captured alive.

Major Kyle, who was wounded himself, did the interrogation personally. It was conducted in the community center. Five people stood guard outside, while two were inside—Cameron was one of the two. The hostile was duct taped to a chair, and was bleeding from a flesh wound on his right calf.

"Where did you come from?" he asked point blank.

"Fuck you," was the out of shape, wrinkly, gray-haired bastard's response.

Major Kyle promptly took out his pistol and shot the bastard's left leg. The man cried and screamed in pain, as the Major watched him squirm. Cameron was probably enjoying the sight of that a little too much.

"I asked where the fuck you came from!"

"You're military!" the prisoner shouted in agony. Most of the original Guardsmen still did their patrolling in their uniforms. "You aren't supposed to treat captives like this!"

Without thinking, the Major shot the other leg. "And your one brain dead mother fucker if you think I'm playing by the rules! My people spent months making this place what it is today, and you just come in thinking you can take over."

He didn't say anything. After letting out even more cries of agony, he just bit his lip to stifle the screaming. "You know I can't kill you while you have information I want," Kyle said dangerously, pressing his gun on the kneecap. "We'll be keeping you alive just enough so you can feel every ounce of pain. And when you pass out, we'll wait 'til you wake up so we can simply continue from where we left off."

"I have my rights god dammit!" was the terrified and desperate response. "This is still America!"

"We changed the legal drinking age, and lowered the voting age. Now that may not seem like a whole lot, but I have no problem calling our leader up so that he can toss the Eighth Amendment out the fucking window!" Kyle shouted, blowing off his kneecap. The prisoner howled in even more pain and agony, struggling against his bonds and was loosing a lot of blood.

A half hour later just as Kyle was about to take off a finger, the prisoner shouted, "We came from Monroe! Okay? Monroe—it's a place way to the south of here. Please stop! PLEASE!"

"If you're lying to me I'll be back," Kyle told the prisoner menacingly. Wiping the blood off, Kyle made for the door. With his actions also came what was popularly dubbed the Kyle Doctrine, which stated that any person that took away another's basic human rights, were no longer considered worthy of those same rights themselves.

"Monroe?" Cameron asked.

"Sir," Perry said, "could that mean—?"

"It'd make sense," the Major said, still wiping his hands. "They did have similar weapons as us."

It looked like the time had finally come to head for that National Guard armory.


	28. Aftermath

It was needless to say that the people were pissed and wanted blood—not an eye-for-an-eye, but an eye for a whole goddamn corpse! The next day nearly every shooter was ready to move out and get some payback. But Isturez, Major Kyle, and every other person with military experience knew that it wasn't going to happen in an instant.

As soon as Monroe was named, Isturez chose two of the best guys in the unit, gave them guns and supplies, and had them go do recon. If they were gonna go to war, then they were going to fight it smart. And to prepare for that Major Kyle made rifle training mandatory once again. Only this time the focus wasn't just pointing and shooting a target, but actual battlefield tactics.

In the meanwhile the wall was not being put on hold. Security was doubled in every area.

Three nights after the attack, Cameron found himself back in bed with Becky. It had been so long since the last time that they shared a bed that it felt great to be there. Even after she started speaking to him again, there was still a wall between them. She still may not have been completely okay with the situation, but as it was said before: the baby was coming no matter what, there really was nothing else going on between Cameron and Marge, and Becky genuinely cared about Cameron—and he about her.

Why spend all that time giving the cold shoulder and when there were zombies and bandits out in the world?

"Holy shit," she breathed, as they lightly kissed. "What got into you?"

"It's been—what? A month since last time?" Cameron responded with a smile, holding her against him. "Why wouldn't I be revved up?"

"Are you trying to get Becky pregnant too?" her aunt said later over dinner. She was probably the only one in town that didn't give Cameron a hard time before, happy that he and Becky were no longer together.

"Aunt Alice!" Becky snapped.

"Great Aunt Alice," Sarah murmured under her breath, trying not to laugh.

"We use…y'know…condoms," Becky mumbled, running her hand over her mouth.

Cameron tucked in to his helping of nearly expired Spam (what he wouldn't have given for a juicy steak dinner). After the first time they shared a bed following the disaster at Target, they thought it'd be best to sneak condoms (an item in high demand) during the next supply run. The only reason he hadn't done that with Marge, was because if he were caught back then it would've led to awkward questions.

Alice gave him the stink eye. She may not have been as extreme as the rest of the Christian fundamentalists, but she was still very much devout and didn't like knowing that her niece was partaking in such behavior.

"And what if one broke?" Alice asked seriously "What would you do if you did get her pregnant?"

"I'd ask her to marry me," Cameron answered easily and truthfully. The tinkering of silverware stopped as all of them stared at him. "What?"

"So how come you didn't marry Marge?" Alice said accusingly.

"I was gonna ask but she didn't give me a chance," he said, taking that question as an insult. "She doesn't _want _to marry me."

"Did that make you upset back then?" Becky asked him carefully.

"Not really," Cameron admitted. "Marge is happy I want to be there for the kid, so that's good enough for the both us. We want to choose who we want to be with on our own." He smiled at Becky.

"Geez," Sarah said dreamily, and sounding a bit disappointed. "It would have been wonderful to fall in love with the man I survived hell with. I'm surprised that you don't feel that way about Marge."

Becky began giving her sister an extremely evil look, but honestly Cameron was a bit surprised too.

Marge was a beautiful, independent woman. She and Cameron fled through an entire state together to reach safety. They lived, talked, laughed, and got to know each other (in more ways than one). But did he love her romantically? No. Why? That's just how life worked. Sex doesn't equal love.

Then there was Becky. She was your normal girl that didn't really catch Cameron's eye at first. But he gave her a shot, and found himself getting attached to her. It was her not speaking to him more than anything else that caused him so much anger and sorrow after Marge turned out to be pregnant. And just recently he had killed in cold blood for her. Maybe he did love her, he thought. But Cameron couldn't put it into words just yet. Zombies or not, he had a thing about waiting at least six months before saying those three little words.

Noticing that he was staring at her, Becky just smiled at him in an embarrassed sort of way before going back to eating.

When the recon team returned almost two weeks later, they brought surprising news. The hostiles had purposely tried to piss them off. The leaders had sent some of their weakest and dumbest, saying to them that they were the first strike and would be immediately back up. That obviously wasn't the case.

A full frontal assault on Yuba, where there were over a hundred men and women able to handle a rifle, and ready to fight to the death? That would've been suicide for the sixty or so bandits reported by the recon team. So instead they sent that small task force in hopes that Yuba would respond in kind.

So, to prepare for what they thought would be an immediate response, the bandits had planted landmines and set up many ambush points along every road leading to Monroe. The recon team marked every position on a map.

But as time had passed less people were itching for a fight. When more people found out how far away Monroe was they didn't think it was worth the risk to take revenge. Cameron was one of those people. Since he was one hundred percent back on good terms with Becky, he did not want to risk his life. And people didn't care as much that he had gotten Marge pregnant, so he got much less shit for it. Just let those bastards rot in Monroe—let them prepare for an attack that would never come.

That was he thought until, however, the recon team reported something else. The bandits were taking slaves. They scoured the surrounding areas for any survivors (just as those rescued from Lancaster said), and took them by force so they could be forced into servitude—which meant anything from making them a sandwich to being personal playthings. The way that those people were being treated was brutal, and sometimes they were killed just for fun.

It was that more than anything that got people back behind getting some revenge.

The east wall was completed. Between that and the interior truck wall homes were already being built, and crops were being planted. And it was in that area that the militia massed. Eighty percent of them would be leaving to fight, while the rest stayed behind to hold the fort. Foxtrot was added to the roster of trucks, and the recon team was sent ahead again to report any changes.

A special weapon was also brought out for this occasion. It wasn't very useful at first, and seeing as Yuba really had no tall buildings, so they didn't come to much use in the zombie killing. Only now was the stockpile of sniper rifles was unpacked, and handed to everyone that had training with it. Not only that, but everybody also got a set of body armor.

Before everyone loaded into the vehicles, Isturez (who had wanted to go too, but was encouraged to stay) said one thing to them: "Take no prisoners." Not only was it intended as words of inspiration, many took it as an order.

Marge gave Cameron a kiss on both cheeks, begging him not to get killed. Feeling her stomach he could already feel a lump forming. It might have been the consequences of heat of the moment bathroom sex but it was still his kid in there. Cameron told her he would be careful.

Almost everyone wanted to be in the frontlines and opted to get in Alpha. Cameron and Becky had to settle for boarding Bravo. The fifteen snipers spread themselves out so that two or three were in each vehicle. So then the engines of the six trucks roared to life, the gates of the east wall opened, and the militia was on its way to war.


	29. Round One

For two hours the trucks rumbled and shook with those inside just waiting for everything to get started. This time they were facing a whole new enemy. The hostiles were able to think and use weapons. It was far different than simply keeping an eye out for zombies, and just shooting them in the head. _Payback and rescue_, Cameron kept telling himself so he wouldn't loose his resolve. Those bastards were the same people that intended to have their way with Becky. They needed to be dealt with.

The convoy then came to a stop. Outside the snarls and banging of zombies were heard, but weren't much cause for concern. The two snipers that were in their truck then stood up and used power tools they brought along to start cutting a long rectangular slit through the right side.

Harry Galt, who was in charge of Bravo, was a person that Cameron really only knew by reputation. The man was stock, with wisps of gray hair, and had a booming voice when he stood up to address them. "Okay, people, listen up. A quarter mile to our west is a patch of trees that contains snipers. I need everyone flat on the floor."

Caught off guard by this announcement, the people inside did as they were told. Once the snipers made a slit wide enough, they laid out ladders so that they could lay their rifles on top of them to take aim. Needless to say it was a tight fit on the floor.

For over a minute the snipers stood there, aiming out of that slit they created.

"Gotcha you piece of shit," one of the snipers said with malice, as he pulled the trigger. "Tango down!" he declared, while reloading. And with that Cameron heard, as the other snipers in the other trucks started to fire at will.

Soon enough, it seemed that the hostiles began firing back. A bunch of holes were made on the side of the truck, as the enemy snipers tried to get kills of their own. But each shot missed, doing nothing more than puncturing more holes. It wasn't until one of those bullets hit the spot where he was sitting only a few minutes ago that Cameron realized how important it was to stay down.

The exchange of gunfire lasted for at least fifteen minutes. Bullets were penetrating the side of the truck at a much slower rate.

"How cute, they're trying to get away," the same sniper said with a falsely sweet voice. Both of them trained their guns to the left and kept on firing. After a minute the firing stopped, and both snipers stepped away from their rifles looking pleased.

"Well," the other sniper said with some satisfaction, "one car did managed to get away, but the other had its tire blown off. Shit heads tried to make it on foot."

"Is it clear?" asked Harry.

"We'll keep an eye out, but you should be safe. Count on us."

"Okay. Marsh, Doug, and Kat. I want you three with me," he ordered, climbing up the rope to ladder to the hatch.

Becky squeezed Cameron's hand anxiously. "Be—"

"Careful?" he finished for her. "There should just be zombies out there now, nothing much." He gave her a good, wet kiss before following up Harry.

Unlike every other time he climbed up through that hatch, this time there was only open farmland around, with only a scant amount of zombies. Using the usual stick with sharp object at the end, everyone conserved their ammo and dealt with the zombies.

"Alright!" Major Kyle announced, as he called everyone that had left the confines of the trucks to attention. "Alpha through Charlie, go deal with that land mine up the road. Delta through Foxtrot, make sure those trees over there really are clear. And I want some more people on the trucks to perform zombie watch."

The road that they were traveling on linked up to a larger one just up ahead. Walking the few hundred feet there, Cameron noticed what a feeble attempt it was. Straight ahead along the entire length of the road were land mines that were two feet apart. What bandits were probably planning on doing was let a vehicle take damage, forcing the occupants to get out and be picked off by the snipers in those trees.

Even Harry shook his head at the stupidity. The team fell back a few yards, and Harry raised his rifle to shoot and blow up those land mines. The explosions left a quite hole in the road, but the trucks should have little problem getting over that. Another man on the team put a pair of binoculars to his eyes, and said that he saw no more land mines up ahead.

Militia: 1 Bandits: zip

When they got back to the trucks, they found Major Kyle pacing back and forth anxiously. When Delta through Foxtrot made it back in one piece he was still pacing. Finally, somebody had the sense to ask for orders.

"It's those limp dick bastards that got away," Kyle said, still pacing. "By now hostile command knows we're coming. We have to wait."

After ten minutes, the CB radio in Alpha came to life. "Recon to Militia. Recon to Militia. Do you copy? Over."

"This is Militia. We copy," the Major answered, picking up the mouthpiece.

"Sir, the hostiles have been warned of your presence. They are mobilizing as we speak."

"Roger that. Keep us posted on all activity. Out." After getting off the radio, he began barking orders again. "I want a change in formation! No more single file—I want it two by two, with snipers on the roofs of each truck. I want them ready to fire the second that the trucks come to stop!"

Cameron got back in Bravo, the snipers did as they were told, and the trucks started up again. Well, he got what he wished. He and everyone else were now at the front, one of the first ones into battle. In retrospect only a fool would want to put him or herself in danger, but the need for revenge was welling up inside them once more.

They drove on for a few more miles when suddenly the truck began turning to the right. At that same moment the Major's voice sounded through Harry's radio.

"I want everyone to turn up your radios so that I can address all of you," he ordered. Harry did as he was told and held up the radio so the sound could travel through the truck. "We are about a mile from Monroe, and these hostile fucks set up an ambush point inside of a quaint little neighborhood. Bravo, Delta, and Foxtrot have broken off to maneuver behind them." The truck then banked to the left. "The rest will be taking them head on!"

In no time the sounds of gunfire were heard in the distance, and it began getting closer. When it sounded as if the bullets were hitting the trucks, the movement started to become more erratic.

The truck then came to a stop all together. "We are zombie free," the Major said over the radio. "Get out there and do what has to be done!" At once an immediate scrambled began for extra ammunition. Cameron was able to grab three fresh magazines, which he stuck into different pockets.

The back doors were swung open, and everyone inside began jumping out. Once it was Cameron's turn he squeezed Becky's hand before leaping outside.


	30. The Battle of Monroe

They were taking so much fire from the houses to the east that everybody had to take cover behind the trucks. The snipers on top were already flat on their stomachs trying to take out as many hostiles as possible. Still, that didn't prevent them from taking casualties as soon they started disembarking.

Two of Bravo's people had to be dragged to cover. One was nothing more than a flesh wound, but the other was shot in the thigh and he was bleeding badly.

"Tango down," the snipers began saying.

"Listen up!" Harry shouted loudly, so that not only Bravo but also to everybody from Delta and Foxtrot could hear him. "The enemy is that way!" he said, pointing to the houses. "We _are_ going to take these fuckers out, and make it so that zombies are once again the only goddamn thing we have to worry about! MOVE OUT!"

With a yell, he raised his rifle and sprinted around the truck to the objective. Not wanting to be left behind, Cameron and all those around him followed Harry without hesitation.

Once in that open the incoming fire became heavier. The fifty plus determined men and women pressed on nonetheless, only stopping if someone nearby had been hit. Drawing closer and closer to the nearest house, people began to stop for a second to fire a few rounds, and then move forward.

Cameron heard as a bullet flew right by his hear. Immediately he jumped to his left, crouched, and raised his rifle up to return fire at the window where the enemy fire originated.

"Bravo, keep putting pressure on this side of the building!" Harry ordered amid the chaos. "The other two teams circle around the back! Flank these guys!"

Doing as he was ordered, Cameron was now inching onward while keeping his sight up and firing at the hostiles taking shelter in the house. Finally he managed to reach the wall of the house, and looked back at where he had come from. People were still making their way forward by either crouch running, crawling, or moving from cover to cover.

"Cam!" Sheila shouted from the ground a few yards away. Once seeing she had his attention, she lobbed something over at Cameron. Picking it up on the roll, he discovered that it was a grenade.

The window above him had bullets flying out of it once more. Once the firing had stopped, Cameron stood up, looked through to see a bandit reloading, and shot him. Not waiting to see whom else might be inside, he pulled the pin and tossed in the grenade. Throwing himself to the ground, and planting his hands over his ears, he felt it as it exploded.

After recovering, he stood back up to take another look inside the house. It was the living room, and in it were two dead bodies in addition to Cameron's kill—along with one rolling in agony. The wounded hostile was quickly shot and killed by someone else through another window.

Carefully he climbed through the window, as did three others. Briefly wondering where everyone else was, he looked outside to see the others moving onward. Seeing as they were left with the task of clearing the house, they made a sweep of the downstairs. In the kitchen a pale hostile was on the ground trying to stop the bleeding from a wound to his shoulder. He had looked at them pleadingly, but was put down with less pity than one might have towards a rabid animal.

Next was the upstairs. One by one the rooms were opened and searched. In the last they had found one hostile alive with five prisoners. He was holding a shotgun to the head of a girl barely older than Sarah. The girl was bound, naked, and crying. And the others were in no better shape.

"Let me go or she—"

Bang! Cameron had quickly fired off a round, and caught the bastard in the left eye, causing pink mist to erupt from the back of his head. The now dead bandit toppled to the ground, and the shotgun went off as it hit the ground, though it thankfully injured no one.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked the girl, undoing the ropes and gag.

"Uh-huh," she responded, shaking and crying.

"Your fine now," he tried to reassure her. "You're fine." It was a lie. She was not going to be fine. That poor girl was probably traumatized for life—no chance ever being a normal girl again. If those bastards that attacked Yuba had their way, then that would've been Marge and Becky's fate. Seeing all of that only made Cameron even more incensed—and the same went for the militia with him.

"I'll take them back to the trucks," Cole told them, untying the other prisoners. "Go back out there and make the fuckers pay."

None of them needed to be told twice. Outside the rest of the militia continued down the neighborhood to deal with other bunkered down hostiles. Gunfire was coming from down the street, where the militia looked to have been split between at least three houses. A bit to the north were even more battles taking place.

The two that Cameron was with charged forward to do whatever they could do to help. As Cameron was about to join them, something across the street to his left caught his eye. A small squad was running across a yard in the cul-de-sac in the distance. Those people were taking and receiving fire, as they got closer to one of the houses.

Cameron decided to go give them a hand. The squad was way off to the right putting heavy fire on the house. Then dirt suddenly puffing up around his feet, causing Cameron to stumble a bit and try to get out of the way. He tripped, forcing him to crawl away from the gunfire aimed at him.

Getting onto his knees, Cameron aimed and fired at the window where the gunfire was coming from. After a few rounds he came up empty, so he took a magazine out from his pocket to swap it out. Immediately Cameron started to return fire again.

"LIVE GRENADE!" Cameron heard somebody from the squad shout in panic.

It was followed by an explosion. Pressing their advantage, the hostiles focused all of their firepower on the distracted squad. From his position Cameron watched in horror as the disoriented squad tried to fight back, but only managing to get off a few rounds as they tried to retreat.

"Son of a bitch!" Cameron cried, now freely sprinting towards the house.

Upon reaching it, he took cover under the window. With the focus they were putting onto the larger force, who ever had been shooting at Cameron before forgot all about him. _Big mistake!_

Breaking free from his cover, Cameron took a quick look inside the house before hopping through the window quietly. The bandits were to his right still trying to finish off the squad.

"Haha! Look at them squirm," they were saying, shooting gleefully. "Tryin' to run? Don't think so!"

Pissed off, Cameron pointing his rifle at their backs, and shouted, "EAT SHIT AND DIE!" Cameron proceeded to unload the contents of his rifle as he swept it across the mass of hostiles. Pointed rounds of hot led entered each one of their bodies, their blood splattered, and they died as they screamed in surprise and agony.

Two of the six he shot were still alive, but Cameron fixed that soon enough. Now he wanted to go out and check on those people outside, but he couldn't. Quickly swapping out his magazine for a fresh one, he first Cameron headed upstairs to perform a quick sweep of the area. More prisoners were found in one of the rooms upstairs, so he untied one of them telling him to free the rest.

Once back outside Cameron went to check on his fallen comrades. Sadly all were dead but two. Perry, one of the injured, was lying on the ground moaning with a few rounds embedded in his bulletproof vest, and his right arm and left leg had also caught a few. The other one…

"No!" Cameron said in dismay. "Major!"

Major Kyle was worse for wear. On the side of his neck was a bloody wound, he was coughing up blood, and his breathing was labored.

"Marsh," he said weakly.

"Don't talk, Major, we'll get you some help."

"No helping me, Marsh," Kyle gasped, dribbling out more blood. "Take my radio…. Tell Harry he's in…in charge now."

"Bullshit," Cameron told him, trying to press his hands against the wound to stop the bleeding. "You may not be able to fight anymore—but you can still call the shots!" Blood was getting everywhere!

"Dammit, Marsh, listen to me! Finish the mission," Kyle ordered through gritted teeth. Suddenly his face fell slack, his eyes rolled back, and Major Kyle—the man that had taught Cameron and half the militia to shoot, Yuba's own personal R. Lee Ermey, and the leader who was there during every venture into zombie country—was dead.


	31. Rolling Acres Lane Massacre

"FUUUUUCK!" Cameron yelled at the top of his lungs. "Son of a fucking whore! God dammit! Pieces of shit!" Raging, he stomped around, kicking up dirt, and pulled on his hair. Not only was it a serious blow to Cameron, it would be a blow to everyone else.

That was when it all came crashing down at once: What in the living hell was an eighteen-year-old kid doing on a battlefield in Wisconsin? With him were a rifle and a pistol that never in his life Cameron thought he'd ever use. That day alone he killed _at least_ eight people, and countless more zombies since the outbreak hit. And the final straw was the fact that one of the most respected people in the community just died bleeding in his arms. What the _fuck?_

He was two seconds from throwing his hands in the air, and saying to hell with it, when someone called out to him.

"Is it safe?"

Looking back, Cameron saw that it was the prisoner he had untied. He and the rest were timidly leaving the confines of the house. There were more like them yet to be freed, Cameron reminded himself…and more bandits yet to be killed.

Cameron was there to help make sure that his new home and family were indeed safe, so he couldn't afford to lose his resolve. Besides, he stopped being a kid and grew up the second that he had killed that reanimated cop back in his room in that Chicago suburb.

Picking up the radio from the Major's belt, he said into it, "Harry, you there? This is Marsh. Respond immediately. Over." Waiting a few seconds, he put it back to his mouth. "Dammit, Harry, pick up already!"

"What is it?" Harry finally said, with the sounds of gunfire in the background. "This isn't the best time!"

"Harry, Major Kyle's KIA. His last orders were that you were in charge," Cameron informed him.

"What?" Harry responded, perplexed. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"If it was, Kyle would have my head on a silver platter!" Cameron yelled. "I'm telling you the truth! You're in charge!"

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. "Okay, fine. Since I'm the acting CO, you're taking over as leader of Bravo."

"That's bullshit!" Cameron argued, taken back. "I'm not even a Guardsmen."

"Well until I find someone better, you're it, Marsh!" The transmission cut off there.

"SHIT!" he screamed, desperately wanting to shoot something. What the hell did he know about being a leader?

"Excuse me?" the former prisoner asked carefully.

"Yeah," said Cameron, trying to get his head straight. "If you don't mind, help me get my friend someplace safe." He gestured to the still injured and groaning Perry.

"After rescuing us from these sick bastards? Anything!"

Hooking the radio to his belt and strapping the rifle around his back, Cameron carefully bent down to pick Perry up by the armpits. The freed man (Nick, his name was) had a more difficult time trying to find a spot to grab onto the leg. Eventually, they and the three other freed prisoners made their way to where the trucks were parked.

As they went Cameron wanted to know (but at the same time didn't want to know) what kind of abuse they had all gone through. The women were practically naked just like the last bunch, but had covered themselves with some clothes. The men, Cameron noticed horribly, had left over make-up smeared on.

One of the girls suddenly began to get slower and stumble more. She was pale and sickly looking, and Cameron wondered what kind of horrible disease she might have picked up from those bastards. The other prisoners understandably looked worse for wear, but she was even worse.

Coughing up blood, the girl collapsed like a rag doll.

"God dammit!" Cameron yelled in panic, finally seeing the bite mark that was covered up by her clothing. He had to drop Perry, who cried in pain upon hitting the ground.

The girl's eyes opened again, and she stood back up to attack the person nearest her. Cameron only just managed to fumble out his pistol out and put a round through her head, before she had claimed a victim.

"I didn't know!" Nick said in surprise. "I mean, yeah, a few hours back the assholes threw her outside to watch her be chased by those monsters—but I didn't notice the bite!"

"It's not your fault," Cameron said to him, putting the safety back on before tucking the pistol back in his pants. "I'm gonna make sure every last one of these fucks gets what's coming to them…. Sorry 'bout that, Perry."

"No…no problem," he groaned, wincing as he was being picked back up.

"Doc, I have a new one for ya," Cameron said a few minutes later. The trucks had become a field hospital. Quite of few people were on the ground or sitting up, nursing their wounds. And there was only one person with a few volunteers running around to take care of everybody. Some of the more able-bodied ones were standing guard—it was still zombie country, after all.

"Shit," the medic said, as he gave Perry a quick once over. "We need these wounds cleaned," he told one of his helpers.

"Perry!" Cameron saw as Walsh, who had a wound on his forehead, kneeled at Perry's side. "Are you okay?" he cried, caressing his head.

"I'm fine," Perry groaned. "Now quit bitching and get some payback for me." He grimaced as the medic poured antiseptic over his wounds.

Leaving them, Cameron went to one of the trucks to get bottled water, which he used to rinse the blood off of himself. As he did so he spotted the girl that he had saved earlier not too far away. She was wrapped in a blanket and eating a candy bar as she stared into space.

"I need to get back," Cameron told the medic. "Take good care of them." Nodding dismissively, the medic got back to work, and Cameron headed out again.

Running back into battle again, Cameron found that there wasn't that much of a battle to be had—in fact, none at all. Every house in the sparse neighborhood had been checked and cleared. All the hostiles that had surrendered were all rounded up. The bodies of the deceased militia were now being gathered, while the wounded headed back to get treated.

"Is that all of them?" Harry asked.

"Yes, sir," was the answer. "Every house has been thoroughly checked, and all freed prisoners are now getting treatment."

"Load all those rescued, the wounded, and our dead onto Echo and Foxtrot," Harry ordered grimly. "Take them to Yuba."

"Sir, uh, what about them?" the man asked uncertainly, nodding towards their captives.

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Are you _certain_ all hostiles in the area were cleared?"

"Positive."

"Then shoot them."

"Sir?"

"Did I stutter? I'm not wasting any supplies on these animals. I'm in charge, so do it!"

There wasn't much incentive to argue that order, so the ones guarding the prisoners were given the signal. Many of the bandits were too frightened to move; still a few managed to try running for their lives. But the end result was the same. Each and every one of the hostiles was put down in a barrage of random and confused gunfire. Any left alive were promptly shot again. They left the bloody and mangled bodies there as if they were just zombies.

It became known as the Rolling Acres Lane Massacre, after the street it took place on.

But Cameron wasn't concerned about them. Taking in the carnage, one person began to stand out in his mind. Fear enveloped him the more he walked around, not being able to find any trace of her! Cameron sprinted all over the neighborhood asking everyone if they'd seen Becky.

"Becky!" Cameron called, over and over. "Becky!"

Finally, he spotted a figure on the ground, whose curly brown hair was sprawled on the grass. _Shit!_ Cameron thought, immediately sprinting towards her.

Sliding right next to her, Cameron inspected every inch of Becky desperately. To his horror he saw two bullets lodged into her vest—but other than that there didn't seem to be any damage. So why wasn't she breathing?

"Becky?" Cameron asked timidly, on the verge of tears. She couldn't be dead, she just couldn't be! Becky was the best thing that ever happened to him. He patted her face anxiously but softly.

Becky cringed her face once he started doing that, causing a wave of relief to wash over Cameron. "What?" she asked, annoyed.

"You're okay!" he declared happily, picking her upper body up for a hug.

"AH! For fuck's sake, Cam!" Becky admonished, pushing him away roughly. "That's hurts like a bastard! You ever been shot twice in the chest? Not fun!"

Not caring, Cameron simply closed the gap between them again so he could kiss her. She actually kissed him back for a few seconds before pushing away again.

"Later, okay?"

"How come you weren't moved?" Cameron demanded.

"Cause it hurts to move," she said, wincing as she sat up. "And people have other important shit to do."

Without asking, Cameron first threw her rifle around his back, and then he picked her up bridal style. "Not me."

"Cam! I'm fine."

"At least wait until we get you patched up," he said to her. As they went, Cameron looked at her every few seconds. He was thinking very hard about what just happened, and how he had just felt.

"What?" Becky asked testily in response to his glances.

"We've only known each other a few months, right?"

"Yeah."

Fuck his six-month rule—Cameron knew how he felt. "So would it be weird if I said I loved you?"

Going red, she just hissed, "Now's not the time!"

True, he could've picked a more romantic moment.

Fifteen minutes later Cameron was wrapping bandages around Becky's chest and midriff. She winced every time he made a pass over her bruises. When he was done, he tore the bandage, and secured it.

"Let's get you on Foxtrot, so you can go back," Cameron said to her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, putting back on her undershirt and, strangely enough, bulletproof vest. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But you're hurt!" Cameron told her. "Everyone that's wounded is going back."

"Everyone that's wounded and can't fight anymore," Becky corrected him. "_I_ can still fight."

"No you can't!"

Out of nowhere Becky punched Cameron in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Okay, so she can fight.

Upon getting his breath back, Becky gave him a quick kiss. "Thanks for worrying, though."

"Marsh!" Harry barked at him.

"Yes, sir," answered Cameron promptly.

"I need all leaders ASAP. We need to plan our next move."

"Leader?" Becky asked, confused.

"You'll know what happened soon enough," Cameron told her sadly, leaving her to follow Harry. Honestly, what business did he have being a leader?


	32. The Home Stretch

In total eighteen people were rescued, sixteen people died, and twenty-two wounded (thirteen of which will return home immediately). When Major Kyle's body had been recovered, everyone in the militia stood up and had a moment of silence before the body was put in Echo with the others. After Echo and Foxtrot left, the meeting that Harry called for started over by Alpha.

"Recon, this is Harry over at Militia," Harry said into the CB Radio.

"Recon here. We copy."

"I have some bad news: Kyle's KIA. It looks like I'm in charge until further notice."

"Really? Well if that isn't a goddamn kick in the nads for us," Recon responded with remorse. "What can we do for ya, Harry?"

"Status report on the remaining hostiles."

"Well, the rest of 'em are digging themselves good and deep into that armory," Recon reported. "Machineguns are being set up along their perimeter, and a few of the fucks even have rocket launchers."

"What's your recommendation?" Harry asked.

"A full frontal assault's too risky. Go completely around Monroe to link up with us east of the armory, so we can set up snipers from our position."

"Can't we just go through?"

"Negative. The city is relatively free from large amounts of infected, but there are still enough in the center to give you problems."

"Copy that. What's our rendezvous point?"

"Corner of 26th Street and 14th Avenue."

"We're on our way. Over."

"See ya soon, Harry. Out."

"Well you heard them," Harry said to the leaders. "Round up your people so we can head out."

Heading back to their respective trucks, they began shouting our orders to the people sitting around.

"Listen up!" Cameron yelled, trying to act authoritative. "If you haven't heard already, I'm in charge of Bravo. Got a beef with that? Gripe about it later. Now load up!"

"Harry put you in charge of us?" Cole asked skeptically. "This has gotta be a mistake."

"Cole, I can abuse my power right now, and order you to sit this out," Cameron said threateningly. "Or you can get your ass on that truck!" He was not in the mood to take shit from anyone at the moment.

"I gotta say I like this side of you, Cam," Becky commented with a smirk, as those around them were following his orders. "I haven't seen you like that since you rescued me and Sarah."

Sighing, he said, "I wish it didn't have to be this way, though."

She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You'll do fine."

When the trucks started rolling, Cameron sat at the front to tell everyone what was going on. He had no idea what they were going to do once they reached their destination, but Cameron did his best to display a degree of confidence. Being a leader, no matter how short a time it'd be, definitely wasn't something Cameron pictured himself doing. Every other time he just saw himself as just another part of the militia, just another citizen of Yuba doing his part—never the center of attention.

"We took losses, yes," Cameron went on. "But if we keep our heads straight, listen to orders, and be aware, then I'm sure we'll all make it through this."

Once his speech was completed, Cole came up again to take a seat next to Cameron. Looking very serious, he started, "Are you sure you're up to this, Cam? It's a big responsibility."

"Harry says I'm in charge. I'd gladly request a change if I didn't know it'd be immediately shot down."

"But you gotta try," Cole persisted. "Even you gotta admit you're inexperienced for this role. Give command to Wesley—he's the ranking officer."

"I told you it's pointless," Cameron retorted.

"Cam," Cole said, lowering his voice so that only he'd hear, "you're fucking one of your people—that's gonna effect your judgment."

Looking over at Becky, he knew that Cole was right. He had told her earlier that he loved her, and if things got tight that fact would cloud his thinking. Cameron did at least have to try and turn over leadership to someone else.

"Harry," Cameron said into his radio. "It's Marsh."

"What is it, Marsh?" Harry asked.

"I think I should turn Bravo over to Wesley. He's the ranking officer here and—"

"What did I tell you, Marsh?" Harry interrupted. "There are too many things to deal with without having to constantly change the chain of command!" Like last time, the transmission just cut off.

"Told you!" Cameron snapped at Cole, angry that he made him annoy the acting CO.

About a half hour later, after many twists and turns, the trucks had once more come to a stop. Harry came on the radio to tell them to quietly take care of the zombies that were on their ass. So, choosing Cole, Becky, and Sheila, the four of them went topside armed with stabbing weapons. To the right Cameron saw a school and some houses. It took a little while, but eventually all the zombies were put down.

The front doors of the school opened, and one man wearing full camouflage walked out with bolt cutters. Getting off of Alpha, Harry went over to shake hands with that man. Together they talked for a minute, the man made gestures across the field, and then Harry called for everyone to disembark.

"The armory is on the other side of those field and that fence," Harry began, pointing in that direction. "That is where the fucks that attacked us, the fucks that killed our people are! Snipers go with Felix here to the roof. Charlie and Delta will stay here on zombie watch. Alpha and Bravo are coming with me."

Handing Harry the bolt cutters, Felix motioned for the snipers to follow and they headed inside the school. Harry began walking across the athletic field, and Alpha and Bravo followed.

Reaching the fence, Harry raised his binoculars across the field on the other side to a building. Wanting to get a better look, Cameron squinted in the direction he was looking. In the distance he saw tiny figures moving to and fro. Harry smirked as he watched the bandits getting into position.

"Snipers are ready," his radio crackled.

"Fire at will," Harry commanded.

Sounds of gunfire started coming from the rooftop, and instantly the figures began dropping. It took a few seconds before gunfire was also coming from the direction of the hostiles.

"Marsh," said Harry, handing him the binoculars. "Look over there."

Looking through them, Cameron saw with some satisfaction as the hostiles were dipping and ducking, trying to shoot in the direction they were being fired from. Obviously it had zero effect. The ones that were alive were either keeping their heads down, or on a machinegun firing wildly.

"I want you to take Bravo and go around the far side of the building," Harry told him.

"Gotcha," Cameron confirmed, still watching the bandits getting put down.

Eventually all of the hostiles began to retreat, still firing in random directions. Taking his binoculars back, Harry surveyed the situation. As soon as no more living hostiles were in sight, he took his bolt cutters and opened a gap in the fence.

Thirty-five armed and deadly men and women crossed through that fence, jogging briskly across that field with their weapons at the ready.

"You have your orders," Harry yelled, quickening his pace. "Move!"

"Bravo on me!" Cameron shouted, leading his team away from Alpha. So there he was leading a team of armed people, some twice his age and with more experience, into combat. What in the hell was Harry thinking?

Still, orders were orders. Ever vigilant, they crossed the field crossed the road, and they lost sight of Alpha as they went around the opposite side of the building. The ground had been strewn with some dead bodies from the sniper fire, with machineguns and rocket launchers left abandoned. One bandit was still alive, trying to crawl away. Cole put an end to his life without even needing to be told to.

It was quiet. All of the windows were boarded up, and the front door wouldn't budge even after blowing off the lock. Nobody lowered his or her rifle or guard, though. The team continued slowly around the building. Adrenaline was pumping through Cameron's veins, making him even more aware of his surroundings. Back at the neighborhood they had virtually no time to think—just do. Here all Cameron could do was think.

Were the hostiles hiding behind something? Were there a lot of zombies nearby? Would all the noise they were potentially going to make attract more? He knew the answers were maybe, maybe, and most likely, respectively.

On the other side Bravo met back up with Alpha. At least in the few minutes Cameron had full command he didn't get anybody killed.

On the armory's wall was a large garage door. At the bottom of the door was a lock, which was also taken off by the bolt cutters. Silently, Harry instructed them all to get on either side of the door.

On the side opposite of Cameron, Harry reached over to awkwardly bang his first against the garage door. "Give up!" he cried. "There's no escape for you."

No sooner did the words leave Harry's mouth, than a barrage of bullets came from inside the building penetrating through the garage door. The hail of gunfire swept left and right, tearing that door to shreds. So much damage was being caused, in fact, that it was becoming unstable and eventually collapsed.

When the dusts settled the machinegun finally stopped firing, seeing that it wasn't hitting anybody.

"We know you're out there," one of the bandits called from inside. "Neither of our sides wants more bloodshed. Leave and we'll stay out of your territory while you stay out of ours."

"No deal, you inbred fuck!" Harry replied, still in cover. "Give up peacefully and we might just let you live."

"We attacked you, so you paid us back and then some!" the bandit persisted. "You got your revenge, so leave!"

"Does the fact that your parents are siblings impair your comprehension?" Harry shouted mockingly. "Give up or die! Those are your only choices."

"We've got prisoners," the hostile went on. "If you don't leave we'll kill them!"

Harry put the radio to his mouth. "This shit head isn't getting the picture," he said quietly over Cameron's radio. "Anyone there have a bright idea?"

Cameron looked back at Bravo, who shook their heads.

Cursing, Harry put the radio to his mouth again, saying, "I want every truck in front of this depot ASAP. That includes snipers and Recon. Maintain your positions and stay on zombie watch until I say otherwise."

Harry slid down his piece of the wall to sit down. Everyone else did the same. It was a stalemate.


	33. Breach and Clear

Cameron was sitting down along with the rest of Bravo and Alpha, just out of the sight of the hostiles. It was depressing. They were so close to finishing things off and going home, but those bastards just had to have a machinegun pointed right at the only entrance to the depot.

He really wished that Major Kyle were still around (not that Harry wasn't doing a good job so far). Cameron couldn't help but wonder if he would've been able to pull off a glorious plan to end it all. If it wasn't for that damn grenade…

_Grenade?_ Cameron found himself thinking.

Grenades have already been put on the table as a way to force their entry. Unfortunately they didn't have much of an idea of what was inside the depot. Perhaps the explosion would trigger even more explosions, and in the end everyone would end up dead. And if not, they didn't want to risk injuring the hostages—which they knew existed from the cries for help.

But Cameron probably just thought of a way to put the idea of using grenades back on the table. It was such a simple idea that he had no clue why no one thought of it sooner. "Harry," he said quietly into his radio.

"Have an idea, Marsh?" Harry asked, sounding a bit dejected.

"How about we have some people put a bunch of grenades on the roof? When they blow it should distract them long enough to give us a chance."

Silence was met with those words. "Well I'll be damned. Recon, you get that?"

"Sure did, sir!"

"Get to it!"

All at once, Alpha and Bravo stood back up, readying themselves once more for an upcoming fight. It took Recon only a couple of minutes to get onto the roof, plant the grenades, and retreat to a safe distance before calling in that they were ready. Peeking around the corner just enough to take a look inside, Harry gave the order to set them off. A second later a gunshot went off simultaneously followed by an explosion that rocked the roof.

Just as Cameron had predicted the hostiles were taken completely by surprise, and Harry gave the order to charge right on in. They weren't seen coming as the man on the machinegun was instantly put down.

When the dust settled, it took the bandits a little while before they realized what had just happened. The explosion created a large hole in the ceiling that showered them with pieces of concrete and dust. Being so preoccupied with getting out of the way, their weapons were no longer pointed at anything, and thirty-five guns were now pointed at _them_.

"Put the guns down NOW!" Harry shouted at the remaining seventeen bandits. Nine hostages were still tied up on the floor in front of them.

Three bandits were stupid enough to try and use their weapons, and three bandits instantly had their faces blown off. The last fourteen were shocked and angry at the way that things had turned out.

"PUT DOWN YOUR FUCKING GUNS!" Harry bellowed at the top of his lungs. Slowly but surely they lowered their weapons to the ground. "Now kick them here." The guns were kicked to him. "Good, now get facedown on the floor with your hands on your head."

Left with no other options, the no longer hostile hostiles obeyed the orders.

"You three untie the hostages and get them on the truck," Harry ordered his men. "You, you, and you tie up our prisoners." Cole and two others obeyed using duct tape that they had brought along just for the occasion. "There's still plenty of firepower that these bastards haven't used yet. Let's load it all up."

Exhaling with relief, Cameron relaxed and lowered his rifle. "There," he said to Harry, strapping his rifle to his back. "It's done. Can you _please_ relieve me of command?" Cameron may have not been forced to make any life or death decisions as leader of Bravo, but he wanted the responsibility off his shoulders.

Smirking, Harry called, "Wesley!"

"Yes, sir!" Wesley answered obediently.

"Bravo is yours for the moment."

"Yes, sir."

"Good job, Marsh," Harry said gratefully, patting Cameron's arm.

He didn't think he did anything to deserve it, but Cameron accepted the compliment all the same. Cameron was about to get to work, when Becky ambushed him to have a quick make out session with him. The timing was completely inappropriate, but it still enjoyable.

Pulling away, she told him in a hushed and sexy voice, "I love you, too."

Beaming, Cameron pulled her back in so they could proceed to snog some more, only getting back to work after Harry shouted at them.

Trucks Charlie and Delta pulled up to the entrance so that supplies could be loaded. The other two trucks were on zombie duty, since all the shooting had caused just about every one of them in the area to congregate on them. Luckily they appeared sparsely so that it made for easy pickings.

It was well into the night by the time they finished unloading. Charlie was completely filled up, with Delta half filled. Cameron was amazed at how much ammunition they had picked up. Without a doubt it would last them for a good while.

"Sir?" It was the same person who had been given orders to proceed with the massacre earlier that day. "What about them?" he asked, nodding over the bound bandits.

"Why waste the bullets?" Harry said, causing to the bandits to look a bit more relieved. "They're zombie chow now." That relief was now gone, and they began to struggle desperately, trying to beg if it wasn't for the duct tape covering their mouths.

Wanting to go home, no one paid any attention to the bandits. Pity was not wasted on those that didn't understand the value of a human life—especially when it was needed now more than ever. Cameron had no problems walking by them as he held hands with Becky as if they were nothing more than moldy, old furniture. The two of them climbed back into Bravo when there was a downtime between zombies. With all the extra cargo and passengers it was a really tight fit inside.

It had been a long day, and Cameron and Becky slept on one another the entire way back.

They may have taken losses that day, but the mission was successful: the hostiles were no more, the hostages were rescued, and possession was taken of an enormous stockpile of weapons.

Still, that didn't mean their world was safe. Zombies were still an everyday threat, and even more potentially hostile people were still out there. But Yuba had numbers, training, and the drive to survive. "If you want to kick the tiger in the ass, you'd better have a plan for dealing with his teeth," Cameron remembered from one of his Tom Clancy novels. Let anybody that decided to fuck with them deal with the consequences.


	34. Proceed With Caution

Cameron smiled as he spread the map over the hood of the car, found his location, and put a red X over it. Red Xs were for cattle that were confined to fences, while blue Xs were the last known location for cattle that were roaming the countryside. He was glad to note that there were a couple more red ones than blue ones, which made things much easier. Now all that was left to do was for Yuba's resident cowboy to round them up, and take them to town.

It's been over two months since Monroe, and a lot's happened, he reminisced. First and foremost, after returning from the battle Harry decided to reward the man that had been tortured for information. The hostile got his own comfy wheelchair to move around in, a pistol, and was set free (which meant that he taken outside the walls, and the gates were shut behind him). After that a small memorial was held for those lost.

Eventually the northern wall and the wall up the hill were completed. In between that and the interior truck wall more homes were built and crops were planted. The only people that had to shack up in the community center were those poor people rescued from Monroe, or at least those that were damaged beyond repair. Becky's sister Sarah volunteered there, and whenever Cameron paid a visit it was heartbreaking. The one girl that he helped rescue would only stare off into space, and eat only when coaxed to.

The weather had turned nippy recently, so when a gust of wind passed Cameron zipped up his jacket and folded up the map. Yuba's harvest could've been a little better, but they still had a ton of nonperishable food to last when winter hit. That wasn't enough for some people, though, Cameron included. He and a few others offered to search the countryside for farm animals for a fresh supply of milk and eggs. Also, even though it would take a generation or two of cattle breeding, Cameron relished the day that steak would be back on the menu.

Getting back into the passenger's seat, Cameron was glad to feel the heater work its magic.

"Ready to go home?" asked Walsh, looking over at the sinking sun. He looked forward to getting protein back in his diet almost as much as Cameron.

"I suppose so."

"Definitely so," Becky yawned, stretched across the back seat.

"You didn't have to come," Cameron said to her. In fact, it surprised him a bit that she did considering that she wasn't exactly comfortable with people of Walsh's lifestyle (it wasn't a religious thing, really, it was just uncomfortable for her). As for Cameron he never saw what the big fucking deal was, and had even had a few gay friends back in Chicago.

The issue first arose months ago while watching Boondock Saints, and Cameron commented on Willem Dafoe's absolutely brilliant performance—Becky found it disturbing. Thankfully, though, they never let it get in the way of their relationship, and presently nothing was going to change the fact that Cameron loved her. Besides, if they agreed on absolutely everything then things would've gotten stale long before.

"And since when the hell do you do something without me?" she asked in response, causing him to shrug indifferently. Well, Cameron figured, in zombie country one had to forget about petty differences and get along.

With the job done, Cameron relaxed in his seat, and said, "So, Walsh, how's married life treating ya?" Out of the corner of his eye he caught Becky squirming a bit.

Perry and Walsh, the only legitimate, out in the open gay couple in town, had wanted to get married the previous month. That had caused a firestorm in the hardcore, fundamental religious community, as almost all of them refused to just sit idly by and let two men get married.

The only problem for those people was that the both of them were members of the militia, served proudly, and faced their share of the danger. Perry and Walsh fought just as valiantly as any straight person back in Monroe. Perry, especially, was going to be forced to use a cane for the rest of his life due to his injuries. So, basically, if you were against the marriage, you were anti-militia—and nobody in his or her right mind was anti-militia.

Even Becky and her Aunt Alice admitted that they didn't have a right to tell them no.

The vote passed, and an hour later they had gotten married at the church (the priest had his reservations too, but he never risked his neck outside the walls). Even better, a lot of the fundamentalists left Yuba voluntarily, saying that they didn't want to be in the way when God smote them down. Cameron, who was doing his shift of wall patrol at the time, waved happily at them as they left town.

Walsh grumbled a bit. "Perry's sorta been a pain in the ass. I love him, but it's always 'I got shot up, do this for me. I got shot up, do that for me.' I swear, I'm this close to strangling him." He raised his right hand, and put his thumb and index finger a few centimeters apart.

Cameron laughed. "Sorry, man, I gotta sympathize with him. I know that sometimes Becky wants to put a bullet through my head."

"True," Becky commented from the back.

They drove for the next half hour, and at one point Walsh said, "Shit, we need gas." They've been driving around the entire day looking for cattle, so it was understandable.

Annoyed, Cameron reached under his seat for the hose so that they could siphon gas from other cars…. But there was no gas to be siphoned. Every car they tried was completely dry. It made sense, though. Yuba's people had been up and down the roads for months looking for supplies or survivors. Eventually all the cars would indeed by sucked dry.

"Well what now?" Walsh asked angrily, after the sixth failed attempt.

"Beats me," Cameron responded, running his hand over his face.

Becky looked at them as if they were idiots. "Gee, I don't know, maybe we could try a gas station."

"They don't have power, so the automated pumps won't work," Walsh told her.

Rolling her eyes, she asked, "What's the nearest town?"

"Uh, Wilton according to that sign," Walsh answered, pointing.

Getting into the driver's seat, Becky switched on the CB radio. "Becky to Yuba. Come in."

"We read you, Becky."

"I need a favor. Can you ask whoever's running the power station right now to give some juice to Wilton? We have to use the gas pumps."

"Roger. We'll relay that right away. Yuba out."

"Thanks. Becky out." Looking at Cameron and Walsh, she made a ta-da gesture, making them feel stupid indeed. Yuba had commandeered the power station south of town to keep it running, and routed all the power there to save energy.

Ten minutes later they found the nearest gas station. Wilton had already been checked for survivors months before. None were found, so the zombie population was left alone. So, it was unsurprising to find a dozen or so of the things lurking around the gas station. Seeing that gave Cameron a slightly nostalgic feeling, remembering all those zombies he had run over with the Honda the day after the outbreak.

He was tempted to ask Walsh if he could drive, but he had already stepped out of the car, saying, "Let's get to work." Feeling a bit bummed, Cameron nonetheless got his rifle ready and started clearing away the zombies.

It didn't take more than a minute or two. After confirming that the power was on, Walsh brought the car around, Becky stood outside on zombie watch, and Cameron went into the station to switch on the pumps. He may not have seen anything through the glass windows, but Cameron still raised his rifle to quickly check of the store.

It was rather curious. Almost every bit of packaged food had been opened. Still treading carefully, Cameron maneuvered behind the counter and his jaw dropped. An emaciated woman was lying across a strip of cardboard as if it were a bed. She was so black and filthy that if it weren't for the bit of light still outside, he might not have seen her. Whether or not she was breathing, Cameron couldn't tell.

He shook his head. Well, he had almost missed Becky that one time, so it probably wasn't uncommon for other people to get missed too.

"Hey," Cameron whispered, wondering if she were still alive. "Hey." Kneeling down, he shook her by the shoulder.

All of a sudden the woman seemed to wake up, and with a snarl she grabbed Cameron's left hand, and took a bite out of it! Cameron screamed in shock more than pain, as the thing sank her teeth in hard enough to draw blood.

Roughly, he wrenched his hand away as he stood back up. For a second that seemed to last an eternity he simply stared at his bleeding hand, knowing what it meant. "You fuck," he breathed, as the thing got up to lunge at him. "YOU FUCK!" Cameron kicked the woman, dropping it to the ground again.

Wasting no more time, he broke out his pistol and put a bullet between her eyes. Cameron didn't stop there, though. Incensed, he shot another round, and another, and another, he just kept pulling the trigger to fill the corpse with led…finally stopping when he knew there was only one left.

Almost immediately the doors to the store opened, and Becky and Walsh ran in with their rifles at the ready. They froze when they saw the scene before them.

"Cameron?" she asked in barely a whisper.

Immediately tears began flowing from Cameron's eyes, and he collapsed against one of the shelves.

"Cam!" Becky yelled, abandoning her gun to join in. Picking up his left hand, she inspected it herself. Once she confirmed that he was indeed bitten, Becky started crying too and embraced him.

"You know the choices, Cam," Walsh said sadly, keeping his rifle up.

Cameron put his right hand on back of her head, and pulled Becky in to kiss her hard. "Leave me," he said to her, still sobbing. "I'll take care of myself."

Becky shook her head wildly. "I'll stay with you, and do it."

"Please, I don't want you to see me like this. Go!"

"No, I'm not leaving you alone." She put her hands to the side of his head, pressing their foreheads together. "I love you too fucking much to do that," Becky whispered.

"I love you, too," he said, moving to sob into her shoulder. "But you gotta go!" Cameron pleaded, much in the same manner her father once had. "When my kid comes could you help make sure he or she does okay?" Becky nodded.

"I'll be outside," Walsh said quietly, turning to leave them alone. "Oh _shit!_" Cameron looked up just in time to see Walsh slip and fall on his ass. "What the hell?" Lifting up his right hand off the floor, he rubbed his fingers together and sniffed them. "Is that…?"

Seeing as it was getting darker, Walsh withdrew a penlight from his pocket. Shining it on his fingers, he said, "Blood?" He focused the light along the floor, where there was even more blood pooling around the body. "Do zombies bleed?" he asked them.

Cameron and Becky shook their heads. Sure, they spurt blood whenever they were shot and/or mutilated, but they didn't bleed.

Smiling, Walsh immediately inspected every inch of the body. "Well I'll be damned," he said in hushed voice. "A Quisling!"

"A what?" they asked together.

Walsh rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, didn't either of you read World War Z yet?"

"No," Cameron answered, wondering why such a stupid question was being brought up.

"This bitch bit you, Cam, but she's _not_ a zombie," he explained, delightedly. "There isn't a bite mark on her. She was just stuck in here for—what? Around six months—with nothing but those things out there! So she went insane, started thinking she _was_ a zombie." Walsh chuckled and shook his head. "I know it's not funny, but Max Brooks sure does know his shit."

The dread was slowly started leaving Cameron, being replaced by relief. "So…you're saying I'm not infected?"

Walsh's smile grew. "Nope."

Cameron's breath suddenly started coming gasps as he clutched his chest. He was going to live! Tears began falling again, and Becky suddenly attacked him with a long, heavy make out session. Not fighting back at all, Cameron wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the way she felt against him.

_A zombie wannabe,_ Cameron thought, amazed. And just when he had been ready to put a bullet through his own head….

_A/N: Last chapter seemed like The End, didn't it? Sorry about that, I'll explain myself later._


	35. The Others

It was dusk, and getting darker by the minute. Neither wanted to drive through the night all the way back to Yuba. It had been a tiring day as it is. To decrease engine noise, the car slowed down immensely so as not to attract any unwanted attention. They drove through a rural neighborhood, and all along down the street were a bunch of zombies.

After parking right beside the open front door of the closest house, Cameron and Becky got out of the car. Using shovels they quickly and quietly dispatched the few zombies that had spotted them. Making sure that none of the others were aware of their presence, they broke out their pistols, screwed on silencers, and walked to the open front door.

Pistol in one hand, and flashlight on the other, they swept the house for any and all possible zombies. There was only one that was stuck in the bathroom wearing nothing but a nightgown covered in black blood. Trying to be as conservative as possible with the limited ammo they brought along, Cameron simply stomped his boot on the thing's chest to floor it. Then, with pulling out a knife, he stabbed into its skull and wiggled it around before pulling out.

Soon enough the rest of the house was pronounced clear. The two of them then proceeded to lock the front and back doors, and used every bit of furniture to barricade them. After that they went into the master bedroom, locking it behind them.

It was two weeks after Cameron's run in with the "Quisling", and in that time his hand healed. After being, bitten vodka found at the gas station was emptied over his wound, followed by antiseptic back in town (both times it stung like a bitch but he manned up). Afterwards his wound was dressed, and he was also monitored for every kind of infection. Because while the zombie might not have been real, the potential diseases she had been carrying were. But the thing that annoyed Cameron the most was the fact that his hand now had a nasty scar. At least now he was finally able to properly hold a gun again.

When word spread around town there was a discussion of what should be done if somebody else ran into one. The opinion was split down the middle. Some (like Cameron) thought those poor bastards had to be put down. Others (like Becky's sister Sarah) saw them as no different from those rescued from Monroe, and that they deserved treatment. The final decision was to try and capture them, but only when it was convenient.

Cameron's heart went out to those poor people, it really did, but that bite had fucking hurt!

In the meanwhile, Yuba found that it liked having cattle around. The cows weren't just used for milk, but they were also used to move shit around—primarily logs that were cut down after the hill was cleared of all trees (those logs were being used to build a whole new wall south of the river). So, to lessen the possibility of having those cattle slaughtered for food over the winter, the higher-ups decided to send scouts out looking for new places to salvage.

"Why the fuck were we assigned this area of all places?" Becky complained for the millionth time, kicking off her shoes and jumping into bed.

"Cause we picked it out of a goddamn hat," Cameron said grumpily. He was just as unhappy about being sent to Minnesota as she was. What made it worse (or possibly better) was that almost every store they ran across had zombie corpses in front of it and was cleaned out. At the least they were going to report the possibility of another group of survivors.

"Let's get some sleep so we can get an early start," said Becky, laying her head on the pillow.

"G'night, then," he said, giving her a goodnight kiss. Spooning up next her, the two of them drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Cameron was woken up from a banging noise coming from outside. Giving off nothing more than an annoyed grunt, he turned over in bed trying to get back to sleep. The banging didn't stop. He gave up. Opening a bleary eye, he sat up in bed to see some zombies outside the window desperately trying to get to them.

"Shit," he grumbled, with nothing more than a grimace. The things weren't an immediate threat, so he didn't worry.

"Well fuck," Becky sighed, looking out the window. "Wonder how they figured out we're here."

"Point is they did," he yawned. Was he really yawning with zombies just outside the window?

After gathering their things, it was time get to work. Grabbing their silenced pistols, they proceeded to shoot the zombies immediately outside the window.

It was quick work. After the window was shot out, they carefully climbed through it to see more of the things massed outside the front door. Seeing as they were between them and their car, they had no choice but to dispose of those zombies as well. In retrospect they should have parked the car outside the window of the master bedroom. Well, live and learn.

"Let's go home," Becky said, tiredly.

"Agreed."

Getting back on the road heading south, Cameron let Becky drive while he worked the map, trying to figure out the best way home. A GPS would've been lovely, but it seemed as if the satellites were no longer in service.

As they cruised, it sounded as if something exploded, immediately followed by the car going out of control. Becky held on tight to the steering wheel, and quickly maneuvered the car to the side of the road.

"Fuck!" Cameron exclaimed a minute later, kicking the flat tire as hard as he could.

"Where's the spare?" Becky asked, checking the trunk and underside of the car. "There's no fucking spare!"

Cameron stuck his hands in his pockets, put his back against the door, and sighed, "We'll have to use one of the abandoned cars, then."

"Lovely," she groaned, staring off into the distance. "Oh shit."

"What?" he asked, turning to see what she was looking at. "Oh shit." Down the road, Cameron saw as a pickup truck full of people got closer and closer. From that distance he couldn't tell if they were bandits or not—but then again one couldn't judge someone by their looks. Many people in Yuba were just as unkempt as some bandits.

The pickup slowed to a stop when they got nearer. Everyone in the back of the truck leapt out while carrying rifles—it looked threatening but it was probably precautionary.

Well if those people could take precautions, then so could they. Becky and Cameron got their own rifles from the back seat of the car. The people from the truck saw this, and immediately pointed rifles at them. Cameron and Becky did the same.

They simply stood their pointing their guns at each other. It was five against two. The two of them knew that they'd rather die than be taken captive by bandits. All of them stood there, breathing heavily, not saying a word.

Cameron's thoughts immediately went to his unborn child. He wanted to be there when it was born, hold it, and teach it how to kill zombies when he or she got old enough. But either way, if those people in front of him were hostile, it was not going to happen. The best he could hope for was to take out at least one or two before dying.

Blessedly, someone then got out of the cab of the pickup, and waved his arms. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! We aren't looking for a fight here!"

Giving the man a once over, he didn't _seem_ hostile. Glancing over a Becky, she nodded at him, and together they lowered their rifles. So did the people before them.

"Were you people staying at that house being pounded on by zombies?" he asked.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" asked Cameron.

"Well I spotted ya. So I put together a team to come to the rescue."

All of a sudden Cameron and Becky burst out laughing.

"Well thanks for that," Becky said to him, trying to suppress her laughter. "But as you can see we're fine."

"You guys aren't the only zombie killers in these woods," responded Cameron. "You the guys that picked clean all the markets around here?"

The man nodded. "Gerry Stepman," he said, extending his hand.

"Cameron," he greeted, shaking his hand.

"Becky," she said with a nod of acknowledgement. "Would you guys mind giving us a hand?" Becky asked, gesturing at the flat.

"Sure," he said with a smile. "So where did you people come from?"

"My people set up a nice little place in Wisconsin," said Cameron.

Gerry arched an eyebrow. "Wisconsin?" he asked. "You don't mean Yuba, Wisconsin, do you?"

"Yeah," he answered, stunned. Becky looked taken back too. "How'd you know?"

"Well," Gerry said, scratching the back of his head, "let's just say we have some friends in common."

_Friends in common?_ Cameron thought, confused. Who the hell wouldn't report back that there were another group of survivors…. Unless they left for good, so they of course wouldn't report back. "Ohhhh…." Cameron responded, catching on.

"You mean the bible thumpers, don'cha?" Becky asked, crossing her arms.

"'Bible thumpers'?" Gerry repeated with a hint of distaste. "They are honest, Godly, people. How could you just toss them out like that?"

"Toss them out?" Cameron asked, flabbergasted. "Those idiots left on their own."

"They said they were forced out."

"Horse shit," Becky rebutted. "They just didn't like the fact that two men were allowed to get married. I have reservations too, but they faced the same dangers as me and Cam here. What right did I have to stop them?"

"Cause it's immoral."

"My ass," was Cameron's response. The situation was going downhill fast. "Look, I appreciate the rescue effort—I really do. But are you gonna help us or not, because we really gotta get back home."

"I don't think so." Stepman gestured at his people, and all of them pointed their rifles at them once more. "Ah ah!" he said when Cameron and Becky instinctively went for their own guns. "Don't even think about it. Now…why don't we go back to my home instead? We can clear the air a bit."

"God dammit," Becky hissed through gritted teeth.

"Fuck me," Cameron whispered. Why the hell couldn't they ever run into somebody friendly?


	36. New Problems and Old Friends

Sitting at gunpoint in the back off the pickup truck, Cameron's blindfold was taken off and ropes binding his arms were undone, as he finding himself before a wall.

When the gates opened up, it looked no different from Yuba. But then again it looked a lot more neat and tidy, making seem like a nicer place to live. People were up and about doing their own thing, laughing, talking, just living their lives in this new world. But not everyone was laughing and talking, Cameron noticed. Some were looking dejected, slumping around wishing they were somewhere else.

He instantly saw why. Most of the less than happy people looked as if they had the Cross branded to their cheek.

"Oh my god!" Becky screamed, inching closer to Cameron, her eyes bugging out.

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," one of their hostage takers admonished.

But Cameron barely heard him. He saw what caused Becky to freak out. In the center of the town was a large wooden cross, and attached to it was a rotting corpse!

"Fuck dude!" he shouted. "What the hell's up with that?"

"Break three Commandments and you get marked. Break three more and that's what happens to you," the assailant explained calmly. "Behave and that won't happen to you."

_Well shit_, Cameron thought horribly.

"Look," Becky pleaded, "you don't like the way we do things in Yuba—that's fine! Just let us go. Live and let live. Trust that God will punish us one day. We just wanna go home!"

"Don't take the wrath of God lightly," another said. "And what happens to you is up for the Father Donnelly to decide."

"At least let _her_ go," Cameron begged them. Remembering how uncomfortable she was during that San Francisco wedding, he jumped on it. "You heard her, she only agreed to let the two queers get married because she felt pressured."

"Cam!" she cried.

"She's a good Christian," he said desperately, fighting back tears. "Let her leave. Please!"

"It's up to Father Donnelly," he repeated.

The truck came to a stop in front of a small church.

"Well I didn't expect to you see you again," a vaguely familiar woman's voice said. Cameron then saw Francine Decker appear, looking amused at their situation. After Cameron and Becky were taken off the truck, Francine walked between them, her smile getting wider and wider. "Cameron, isn't it?" she asked him.

"What of it?" he shot back.

"So how are Marge and your bastard child doing?"

"DON'T FUCKING TALK ABOUT THEM LIKE THAT, YOU BITCH!" Cameron raged, having to be pulled back by two men. He was ready to pounce on her, beat the ever-living fuck out of her. To him, she was no better than a bandit.

"Child?" Gerry asked, confused. "Funny, I pegged these two as a couple. What's with that?"

Cameron and Becky kept their mouths shut, and Decker didn't press the issue. But another voice said, "Yes, Francine, please do tell." His eyes drifted to a gray-haired man, with sunken eyes, and a belly that barely fit in his silk robes.

Decker walked over to the man, and began rubbing his shoulder sensually. Becky looked disgusted.

"Well, Father, this man here impregnated a woman, and didn't marry her. Then he found himself this new whore."

"_Watch your fucking mouth!_" Becky shouted at the top of her lungs, also needing to be held down. Cameron actually lunged at the bitch, but he was swiftly tackled.

"You better pray I don't get my hands on a gun, otherwise I might put a bullet between your eyes," Cameron spat at her.

"My, my," the Father said, looking down at them with concern, "I have my work cut out for me, don't I?" He smiled at them, making Cameron want to convulse. "But don't worry, I shall make sure to save your souls."

"Save our souls?" asked Cameron skeptically, giving the man a funny look. "Are you serious?"

"Correct," Donnelly said with assurance.

Cameron just stared at him disbelievingly as he stood up straight. "You're a fucking whacko, aren't you?" he asked in awe.

"HEY!" Gerry yelled, hitting Cameron in the gut with the butt of his rifle.

"Cam!" Becky cried. But he just stood up straight again, not letting the bastards have the satisfaction.

"No need," Donnelly said calmly. "This isn't something I haven't seen before. Randy."

"Yes, Father," said a man.

"Take them to the jail cell, please. These two are going to be reluctant for a while, and can't be trusted."

"Yes, Father," Randy repeated, pulling out a pistol. "You heard him, let's go."

Having little other choice Cameron and Becky left in the direction Randy was leading them. The more he saw the more he disliked. Almost everyone caught sight of them, and began to whisper. The dejected ones just avoided eye contact, and went on their way. But there was one person that blatantly stared at them as they passed.

"Cam?" that person said in disbelief. "Cameron!"

Staring back, his jaw dropped in amazement, not being able to believe whom he was seeing. There was just no way it was possible. If she wasn't dressed in an old-fashioned dress then Cameron might've been able to recognize her easier. But the tan complexion, black hair, shapely face became familiar. "Jules?" he said, flabbergasted.

Leaving behind the person she was walking with, Jules ran at them and flung her arms around Cameron, who hugged her back in shock.

"You're alive?" he asked, still not being able to believe it. Cameron pulled back to get a good look at her. "Holy shit!"

"Yeah," she responded, smiling and wiping some tears away. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be the one asking you that!"

"Julia," the man she was with asked, walking up to them. "Mind telling my what's happening." Cameron took a quick look at Becky, and it was clear she wanted to know the same thing.

"Oh…uh, yeah," Jules said, suddenly becoming stiff. "Ben…_dear_…this is Cameron, an old friend from back in Chicago."

_Dear?_ Cameron thought, bewildered.

"I'm sorry, but these two are to be taken to the prison cell until they become cooperative," Randy interjected.

"Yes, and we have business to attend to," said Ben.

"Oh please, dear," Jules begged. "I haven't seen him since the outbreak. It would be ever so lovely to catch up." Since when the hell did she talk like that? She turned to Randy. "Please, Randy, I might be able to explain to them the wonders of this community and Father Donnelly."

Ben seemed against it, but he looked down at her glowing face filled with hope, and he nodded. "Only if Randy agrees."

Sighing, he said, "Very well."

"Take them back home, Julia. We can meet up later," said Ben.

With that matter settled, they now went in the direction of her home with Randy in tow. Cameron was about to ask her a question, but she hissed quietly enough so that only he'd hear, "Later."

Her house was very lavish on the inside. It had hardwood floors, paintings, nice furniture, and a tea set or two. Cameron, Becky, and Jules all sat down in the living room. Randy stood at the entrance to wait for them.

"Oh, Randy," Jules said with a smile, "surely you don't have to do that. Why don't you be a dear and make us some coffee." "Dear" must've been her favorite word now.

Randy smirked. "I can't trust you as far as I can throw you."

Jules rolled her eyes and dropped her demeanor a smidge. "Please, the entire town is surrounded by walls, and there are armed guards at each gate. How can they possibly escape?"

Randy grimaced, but he went to the kitchen.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" she immediately hissed.

"We ran into those bastards out there, and they had more guns," Cameron swiftly answered. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"An army truck was passed by after a few weeks (they were in a hurry so I couldn't get word to you, sorry). They were going west, but I wanted to look for you in Wisconsin. I over shot it somehow, and ended up running into these assholes."

"Cam, who is this?" Becky finally said.

"Like she said, a friend from Chicago."

"And who's this?" asked Jules, intrigued.

"My girlfriend Becky." Things were getting off track. "Who's that douche you were hanging out with?" asked Cameron.

She looked disgusted. "My…ugh…husband. It was forced on me. He's been trying to get me pregnant for months." Jules lowered her voice even more after making sure Randy hadn't come back. "Luckily I found a bottle of the morning after pill in the medicine cabinet, and he has shitty vitality, but I'll be running out soon."

"That's horrible!" Cameron said, totally appalled.

"They actually took away your right to choose your partner?" Becky said, not being able to believe it.

"You don't know the half of it," Jules said angrily.

Becky shot him a questioning look. "She's a lesbian," he explained shortly. That generated an "ah" response, and her tensing up a bit.

Rolling his eyes, he turned back to Jules. "What about this Donnelly?"

If the face she had on before was something, the one Jules put on next didn't even compare. "He's the sickest, filthiest, most horrible person I've ever laid my eyes on. That fat asshole takes more of the food, brands people for stepping out of line, and claims to talk to God Himself. Not only is he fucking that new bitch Francine Decker, but he also likes to take a bunch of girls half our age. Over ninety percent of the people here either don't know about it, or turn a blind eye." Her eyes began to tear up. "God dammit I wanna leave."

"We will," Cameron assured her, putting a hand on her knee and shaking it. "We will."

"I don't see how," Jules said, dejected. "All the landlines are down, and the only two computers are in Donnelly's office and in the police station."

"Coffee's done," Randy declared.

"Be a doll, and pour it in mugs," she said, automatically putting back on her obedient façade. Randy grumbled in agreement. Jules suddenly looked at Becky, checking her out from head to toe. "How old are you?"

She looked taken back by the sudden question, but answered, "Nineteen."

That actually looked to have cheered her up a bit. "Figures. It may not be by much in your case, but Cam here has a major hard on for older women," Jules explained with a small laugh, causing Cameron smack his own forehead. "Not only did he worship Kate Beckinsale, but he _drooled_ over our math teacher."

Becky gave him a sideways look, and said, "That sure explains a lot."


	37. Oppression

With the chat over coffee with Jules over, Becky and Cameron were taken to the police station and thrown in the same cell. For the next fifteen minutes they relentlessly rattled the cages, demanding to be let out.

"It's not gonna work," said the man in the cell next to theirs. The man was unkempt and flabby, as if he was over weight once but lost a lot of fat recently. "I've been stuck in here for months."

"Why so long?" Becky asked fearfully.

"Cause I play by my own rules," he answered hoarsely. "Dammit, if it wasn't for those fucks from that pissant town I'd be living the good life."

Cameron and Becky exchanged looks. "What do you mean?" he asked.

The man spit on the floor. "Those bastards. We killed a few of their people, and they respond by wiping out all of mine. I at least had the sense to boogy before they finished us off."

"Monroe?" asked Becky.

He looked up at them in surprise. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

_Stupid, ain't he?_ Cameron thought. "Because," he explained, smirking at him, "I killed at least eight of your buddies back there."

Becky whistled. "Wow, you never told me that. I was only able to do in three."

"That was you?" the bandit raged.

"It was you retards that provoked us in the first place," Cameron told him harshly. "You don't fuck with Yuba and get away with it."

"Well now we're in the same boat, ain't we?" he said menacingly. "Neither of you are getting outta here alive."

"Like I said," Cameron told him with false confidence now. "You don't fuck with Yuba and get away with it. We'll be outta here soon."

"I don't think so, friend." Randy walked up to their cage, and tipped his hat up to get a clear look at them. "Look, this place is locked down tight. Your best bet is to play nice, and maybe we'll assign you some proper housing."

"You can stick that proper housing up your—"

Becky squeezed Cameron's shoulder tightly, and shook her head.

"Listen to her," the jailer said wisely. "You might actually make it in here."

"You're not going along with this, are you?" Cameron asked in surprise, when the bastard was out of earshot.

She shook her head again. "No, but for now he's right. We need to play nice. Obey all the rules…. For now."

With that Cameron and Becky kept their mouths shut for the rest of the day.

The next morning they were abruptly woken up. Randy passed his nightstick back and forth over the bars to make a loud noise. "Wake up," he said, still making a racket. "It's time for mass."

"It's not even Sunday," Cameron said blearily, rubbing his eyes.

"We do this everyday," he explained. "Now let's go. I'm taking you to the nearest house so that you can get washed up."

"Have fun," said the bandit, as Cameron and Becky were led away at gunpoint.

Outside Cameron saw what looked like happy, normal families, all spruced up in their church clothes. The lettering on the building they were being held in told them that they were being held the Gibbons Police Station. So, it was probably safe to assume that the town they were being held in a town named Gibbons. Well that's one thing out of the way, now all they had to figure out was how to get a message to Yuba.

Cameron showered and shaved. When he got out of the bathroom he found freshly pressed church clothes lying on the bed. Reluctantly he put them on, finding that the collar was tight around the neck, the pants were itchier than hell, and the shoes were too damn small. Outside the room he saw Becky waiting for him in a floral pattern sundress.

He couldn't help but smile. Cameron had never seen Becky wear something like that before. Had he had it his way, they would be alone in a room that very moment. Sadly that wasn't the case.

"Let's get moving," Randy ordered.

Expecting to head for the church, Cameron was surprised to see they were headed to the local school's gymnasium. There a few hundred chairs were set up, all facing a podium with speakers on either side and a large wooden Cross behind it. Every one of those chairs was filling up fast, and Cameron and Becky were being led to the very front row.

Not far off he spotted Jules sitting with her "husband". They briefly nodded at each other and looked away.

Once seated, everybody just ended up standing right back up as Father Donnelly's procession went up the middle aisle. The opening of the mass was just like any other. It may have been quite a few years since Cameron attended church, but recognized most of the things they did. The opening words were spoken, and the congregation followed along. All of it seemed perfectly normal.

"Some of you may notice that we have some newcomers with us today," Donnelly began, gesturing towards Cameron and Becky. The congregation turned their heads towards them, all whispering. "They were brought to us by God so that we can take part in their spiritual cleansing. Unfortunately they are resistant to this, and want to go back where they came from so they can continue their sinful ways. Most of you must have heard from Francine what happens there."

The congregation was all over his shit, like flies on a horse's ass.

"Well, I am confident that they will see the light of God," he said with a smile. "Cameron and Rebecca will find what a good and Godly place this is. We have done a great thing here. No longer are we divided among such trivial division between Catholics, Lutherans, Methodists, Baptists, and so on. I am the messenger of God, and I have united all of us under the banner of Christ!"

That may sound all well and good, but from the way Cameron noticed the congregation looking at him adoringly, Donnelly just seemed like your run of the mill cult leader. Instead of feeling anger or resentment, all he started feeling now was pity. He was convinced that Donnelly just used everybody's fear of the outbreak to become some kind of omnipotent savior.

Now Cameron had absolutely no problem with Christians. He had many good friends back in Yuba that were faithful. But in his eyes there was a fine line between faith and ignorance. And all these people's fears made them ignorant.

Still, Cameron had to give him credit. The bastard sure did know how to get people organized to survive a zombie apocalypse.

The rest of the mass went on just like any other. Scripture was read, songs were sung, there was the usual bread and wine, but then Father Donnelly became grimmer. What for? Surely mass was almost over.

"We've had another person break three Commandments," he announced somberly. "Bring forward Henry Clayton." Cameron witnessed as two people dragged a man to the podium, under which Donnelly produced a poker with the sign of the Cross burning red hot at the end. "Henry here had the poor judgment of taking more than was given to him from the food supply."

"My children were hungry!" Clayton pleaded, struggling. "Please, this man eats more than the rest of us! I only wanted my fair share for my family's sake!"

"Stealing is still stealing," Donnelly declared, turning the man's face so the right cheek was face towards him. What happened next wanted to make Cameron run up and tackle the Father to the ground.

Donnelly raised the red hot cross, and planted it against Clayton's cheek. Clayton let out an agonizing scream as the poker seared into his flesh, causing an awful sizzling sound. After a while the Father removed the poker, and Clayton crumpled to the ground, grasping his burnt cheek in pain. Cameron's fists clenched in anger, and Becky put her hand over his to calm him down. There was nothing they could do.

After the mass ended, Cameron and Becky were taken to the church. Cameron was then tossed into one of the confession booths, and a few minutes later Donnelly was on the other side of the screen.

What else could he do? "Forgive me Father for I have sinned," Cameron began, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

An hour later, after Becky had her shot at the confession booth, the two of them changed back into their normal clothes, and were thrown back into their cell.

"So how was it?" the bandit asked, smiling menacingly. "It seemed all hunky dory at first, right? But then they brought out some poor bastard that got branded. Not only that, I saw outside my window as that same guy was crucified."

They ignored him. "The computer Jules was talking about," Becky said to Cameron, speaking to him for the first time all day. "It's across the hall."

"Think it has Internet access?" he asked her.

"Should we ask her?"

Cameron shook his head. "Either way, it's our only chance. I'll give you a shot tomorrow."

"How?"

"You'll see."

The next day it was the same thing over again. And when it came time to get back in the cell, Cameron placed his lips to over Becky's ears to whisper, "Get ready."

"Get inside," Randy ordered told Cameron, who stopped just before entering the cell.

Cameron turned to face him defiantly, his face set.

"I said get inside!" he ordered again, poking his pistol into Cameron's gut.

His heart was beating rapidly. One wrong move and it was all over for Cameron. Still, he couldn't back off now. They had to go home, he had to help his old friend. Cameron moved as if he was going to turn around and go into the cell…instead when he noticed the gun ever so slightly move away, he struck.

With his left hand, he grabbed Randy's right with the gun, and with the other Cameron pulled him in so he could head butt him. Despite being slightly fazed, he immediately clenched his right fist and punched him across the jaw. Pressing his advantage, Cameron floored Randy, causing the gun to come loose, and he proceeded to throw punch after punch. His knuckles were becoming bloody and bruised, but he didn't stop.

"Run and don't look back!" he told Becky, who dashed out of the room into the hallway.

He was about to throw another punch, but Randy managed to move his head, making Cameron punch the concrete floor instead. While involuntarily trying to shake the pain away, Randy got the best of Cameron and attempted to knee him in the groin.

Cameron tried closing his legs, but enough got through to cause him to recoil in pain. The bastard flipped him over, so that he was now on top and began to strangle Cameron. Desperately, he tried to dig the fingers out of his throat, but it was to no avail. Cameron was loosing oxygen quickly as he tried bucking the bastard off.

"I NEED HE—!" Randy was cut off as Cameron quickly stuck his palm between his teeth to shut the bastard up. Help from outside couldn't come—not yet. Becky needed to have enough time to send that e-mail. But the jailer started to bite down hard, drawing blood. Then, he removed one hand from Cameron's throat and began reaching for his gun.

Cameron couldn't let that happen either. With his free hand he started reaching for the gun too. The both of them were able to just barely touch it, desperately trying to get their fingers wrapped around it. And Cameron was loosing air fast. _Reach for it_, he told himself. _Fucking reach for it!_

Cameron won. Gripping the handle tightly, Cameron quickly swung it and landed a hit along the bastard's temple with the butt of the gun. The grip went slack, Randy lost composure, and Cameron turned things around so that he was on top again. He groaned, so Cameron struck him with the gun again, effectively knocking him unconscious.

Looking at his bleeding hand, he sighed._ Again?_ Cameron asked himself.


	38. Salvation

Randy's nose was broken, his face was bruised, and there were two huge lumps on the cranium. Cameron was a bit tempted to put a bullet between the bastard's eyes, but he knew that that would only lead to his own demise. So as soon as the man woke up Cameron knew he was fucked.

"Holy shit!" the bandit exclaimed.

"_That's_ why you don't fuck with Yuba," Cameron told him, massaging his neck.

A minute later Becky returned, her face anxious. "I sent the e-mail. God I hope Isturez gets it soon."

"If not we're done for."

"Well," the bandit said. "Aren't ya gonna run for it?"

"Right, with just one gun, walls surrounding the entire town, and each gate being watched by armed guards?" Cameron rebutted, dismantling the gun. He and Becky then stepped into the cell, and locked themselves inside as they waited for the consequences of their actions.

Two hours later Cameron was handcuffed to a chair in an empty room, and he got the beating of a lifetime. The jailer and another person took turns as they punched him, kicked him, and beat him with all manners of blunt objects.

"Why did you do it?" the jailer asked, his face covered in bandages.

Cameron spit out some blood, and said, "I'm pissed. Does there have to be any other reason?"

"You didn't even try to run."

"Because I knew there was no getting away," Cameron told him. "I just wanted to take out my frustrations, that's all."

He punched Cameron again. "Then why did you tell that girl to run for it?"

"I wasn't thinking," he lied. "Good thing she didn't try to run, otherwise your people might've shot her."

The jailer put a gun to Cameron's head. "And what makes me think I won't shoot _you_?"

"Cause _I_ didn't shoot you," Cameron responded, surprising himself with the quick reply. "And believe me, it would've been no problem at all."

He struck Cameron with the butt of the gun, when a voice said behind him, "Enough." Donnelly walked into the room. "Leave us."

Not daring to disobey, his two followers left the room.

"Why did you do it?" the Father asked, disappointed.

"I want to fucking go home—and you won't let me!" he spat in anger.

"Well, that is one strike against you. You've seen what happens if you accumulate two more," Donnelly told him coldly.

Over the next week it was the same routine. He and Becky were woken up in the morning, attended mass, and occasionally watched some poor bastard get branded. Someone replaced Randy so that the bastard could heal. But every time, before Cameron was thrown back into the cell, the new guy would give him a punch in the gut.

It wasn't limited to daily masses, though. Cameron and Becky also went to prayer circles, which consisted mostly of the other people trying to convince them what a great man Father Donnelly was. Jules definitely wasn't wrong when she told him how much the people of Gibbons revered Donnelly, but what she said was still a gross understatement. To them Donnelly was the number three guy—just behind Jesus and God Himself.

If they wanted to believe that, fine. But it was not their business to try and convert others using force.

"Why don't you give him a chance?" one of them asked Cameron sincerely.

_Because I have brain_, he didn't say. "Would you be happy if you were kept from your friends and family?"

"No."

"How the fuck do you think I feel?" Cameron responded in a pissed off tone.

Eight days into their incarceration, the new jailer led in Jules, her "husband", and another douche. The douche walked up to the cell and looked into it expectantly. He smiled and looked over at Ben.

"Your words didn't do her justice," he said, causing Ben to smile, Becky to arch an eyebrow, and Cameron to sit up cautiously. "Yes, I think I'll have her as my wife when she becomes cooperative."

"Fuck _off_," Becky responded, taken back.

"It seems as if your words really didn't have any affect on them," Ben told Jules sadly.

"Well I tried my best," Jules said, her jaw clenched.

"My home is much more comfortable than this cell," the man told Becky earnestly. "Come with me and we can build a wonderful family!"

"I'll kill you before you can even touch her!" Cameron shouted, standing up and grabbing the bars of his cell, before Becky could speak for herself.

When the new guy was going to respond two more men barged into the room looking incensed.

"What did you do?" Randy demanded of Cameron and Becky.

"What?" Becky asked.

The both of them took out pistols, moving Jules and the other two out of the way. "You're coming with us," said Gerry. With absolutely no room for delicacy, the two of them dragged Cameron and Becky out of their cell and through town. It appeared as if they were headed towards the eastern gate—and they weren't the only ones.

Not far from the gate just about everyone in Gibbons amassed to find out what was going on. Standing in front of the closed gates were four gunmen, with two more on the walls. Becky and Cameron were thrown on the ground not too far away, and both guns were aimed directly at the back of their heads.

"Move and you both die," Gerry threatened.

"Open it," Donnelly commanded, appearing from the crowd.

As the gates opened the two of them let out a gasp upon seeing who was on the other side.

"Well, it about fucking time," Harry said, his arms crossed and looking thoroughly pissed. "I've been waiting here for twenty goddamn minutes!"

"May I ask who you are and what your business is here?" Donnelly asked from behind the gunmen.

"Harry Galt, Defense advisor for Yuba," he answered swiftly. "And I'm here to save my people."

Out of the corner of his eye, Cameron noticed some people pushing to the front of the crowd. Most of them were the victims of branding and looked at Harry with hope. Jules appeared there too, looking from Cameron to Harry. Ben tried asking her what she was doing, but she ignored him.

"Save?" the Father inquired curiously. "Why, I'm already in the process of saving them."

"Well can you tell me why the hell you have guns pointed at the back of their skulls?" Harry retorted, gesturing towards them.

"They've been hesitant so far, that's all."

Harry put his hands on his hips and bowed his head. "Christ almighty. Whatever the case I'm taking them back."

"I don't think so," the Father responded.

"Look," he went on. "I'll make it simple: I want my people back. And, once this whole thing is water under the bridge, Yuba would like to make an alliance, seeing as the only other colony we know of is in Hawaii."

"Like I said, that's not happening," Donnelly said. "And you'll also be joining us. Take him."

"You heard him, let's go," one of the gunmen said, jabbing his weapon at Harry.

"You _don't_ want to do that!" Harry yelled, his face screwing up in anger. "Keep that weapon pointed at me, and you will be classified as an enemy combatant!"

"I don't care. Now get inside!"

"You have five seconds to get that thing pointed away from me," he declared. "Five!"

"Move it!"

"Four…three."

"Go!"

"Two!"

"Damn it, I said—"

"ONE!" Harry casually flicked his wrist, and a split second later the man that was pointing the gun at him went down with a bullet through his head. It took a little while for what just happened to sink in. Finally, some of the citizens in the background started screaming in panic, the Father looked dumbfounded, and all the other gunmen began pointing their rifles up.

Instantly all of the gunmen were taken down, none receiving anything worse than a flesh wound, though. Horribly, Cameron heard the gun cocking behind his head. But as soon as that happened both Gerry and Randy were shot and fell to the ground dead.

"What did you do?" Donnelly demanded, looking horrified at what had just transpired in only a few seconds.

"Consider yourself lucky," Harry spat. "In the event that you people became hostile I set up over half a dozen snipers behind me. Their orders were to disable those with guns, and _kill_ those that posed an immediate threat. Marsh, Robinson, let's go."

Not needing to be told twice, Becky and Cameron stood up, picked up the guns that had just been pointed at them, and made their way outside the gate.

"Thank you so much, Harry," Becky said breathlessly, turning on the safety and tucking the pistol into her pants.

"You really saved our asses," Cameron conquered.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked, taken back by his appearance.

"This?" he asked, touching his bruises. "Just the consequences of calling for help." Pulling Harry in by the shoulder, he said, "Hey, a lot of people don't wanna be here. We have to—"

"Enough," Harry told him. "You think you and Robinson were the only things Recon reported back to us?" Facing the crowd, and yelling so that everyone could hear, he said, "It's unfortunate how things went south like this. So, here's the deal: I know not all of you are happy with the things are run here, so if you wanna come with us now's your only chance. People in Yuba pull their own weight, food and supplies are evenly distributed, you make your own decisions, and this mother fucker," he added, pointing at Donnelly, "isn't in charge."

With that, he turned around and walked down the road. Ever so slowly, the people that looked hopeful at Harry's arrival began walking forward. Clayton just about had to drag his two brainwashed children kicking and screaming with him. Eventually, one of the other defectors picked up one of his kids, so that they could both be carried out. The rest of the civilians looked disbelievingly at what was happening before them—none more so than Donnelly.

"Julia, where are you going?" Cameron heard Ben ask.

Cameron turned to look as Jules punched her former "husband". "My name is Jules, asshole!" As she approached Cameron, he smiled at her and patted her on the back.

"Can't you see I'm trying to save you?" Donnelly asked everyone that was walking away. "Can't you see? No! I'm not letting anyone go!" From within his robes he pulled out a pistol, turning it on his deserters. Before he even got a chance to fire it off, a bullet passed right through his groin splattering blood all over his neat robes!

"Holy shit!" Cameron exclaimed, as the castrated Father was flocked over by his followers.

"Yeah," Harry said casually. "Robinson mentioned in the e-mail that the guy was a fucking pedophile. So, orders were that if he didn't play nice, he gets his dick blown off. And this way they'll be too scared to take any kind of revenge."

Finding it disturbingly satisfying, Cameron spotted Francine Decker, who met his gaze. Smiling, he raised his middle finger before turning to leave. A mile down, the road two trucks were sitting idle with people outside greeting them with a tremendous applause. Even the people on top of the trucks that were on zombie watch let their guard down for a second to clap along. Cameron and Becky shared hugs and handshakes all around.

"Sorry you got involved," Cameron said to Becky as they loaded onto the trucks.

She smiled as she planted a kiss on his lips. "I'm not, cause you wouldn't've gotten out without me." Well that was certainly true enough.

"Hey, Cam," Dennis said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Marge says she's gonna kill you when we get back."

"What the fuck for?" he asked, horrified. All of a sudden staying with the religious nut jobs seemed like the better alternative.

"For making her worry. Just passing it along."

"Who's Marge?" Jules asked curiously.

"You'll see," Cameron breathed heavily.


	39. The Magnet

Cameron drummed the beer can with his fingers in thought. "One time," he started, "I caught Heather and Geoff fucking in the bathroom."

Jules looked astonished. "You're _kidding!_"

"Swear to god. Not only that," he went on, "but later she had a 'miscarriage'." Cameron stuck his fingers out to do air quotations.

"Goddamn."

"Your turn."

"I had an aunt visit once," Jules began. "She wanted to take in the sights, so I took her around Chicago. As we were walking we passed by an anime convention, and who do I see outside of it but Joe."

Cameron's jaw dropped. "Joe?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Joe," she confirmed with a nod.

"Are you sure it wasn't a coincidence?"

Shaking her head, Jules said, "The guy was dressed from head to toe in this crazy ass costume, but I knew it was him."

"Cocksucker," Cameron breathed resentfully. The bastard gave so much shit to the hardcore nerds back at school, but it turned out he was one himself. Joe had been the guy every girl wanted, and who all the other guys wanted to be. The amount of pussy that guy got was unfathomable. "Why didn't you tell anybody?"

"He begged me not to, and I just felt pity for the guy." Jules finished and waved for him to say something.

He curled his lips while thinking, and then smiled. "Maggie and Carla."

"Ooh, what about them?" Jules asked eagerly.

"Maggie fucked Carla's boyfriend," he started. "So, Carla blamed all the shit that was being stolen around school on Maggie. So _she_ puts a kitchen knife in Carla's backpack causing the metal detectors to go off. Then Carla goes to Maggie's parents claiming that they were lesbian lovers."

"Is that why they nearly killed each other in the hallway?"

"Pretty much, yeah." He had been good friends with Carla, so he knew the spiel behind it.

It was a couple of weeks after Cameron got back from that messed up cult compound, and for fun he and Jules were dishing out on all the school gossip that the other didn't know about. Cameron still claimed to have hated that high school drama crap, but that didn't mean information didn't reach him.

The chair next Cameron all of a sudden became occupied. "Your school had metal detectors?" Becky asked curiously.

"Oh yeah, that place was a total piece of shit," Cameron commented.

"Don't know how I survived going there, that's for sure," said Jules. "So, Becky," she said with a wicked smile, "how's Cam in the sack?"

Cameron groaned and rolled his eyes as he took a swing of his beer. In all honesty, though, he was surprised it took so long for Jules to ask that.

"He gets the job done efficiently," she answered. "But," Becky went on crossly, "I have to assume he learned quite a bit while knocking up Marge."

Jules nodded her head wisely. "That'd make sense. When Cam and I did it, his techni—"

Cameron did a spit take with his beer, and Becky yelled, "What!"

"You…didn't tell her yet, did you?" she asked him, looking sorry as hell.

"No," he answered wiping his chin, shaking his head in remorse. Why the fuck would he? It was now the _second_ time that his hormones can back to bite him in the ass. Now if only his old girlfriend were to miraculously reappear then the set would be complete.

"I thought you were a lesbian!" Becky demanded, causing all the male ears in the vicinity to perk up.

"I am."

"So why?"

"It was back when she still wasn't sure about her sexuality," Cameron tried to explain as delicately as possible. "When she told me about it I offered her support for whatever the outcome was."

Jules snorted with laughter. "I believe what you said was more along the lines of, 'You might be lesbian? Hot!'" When she saw that Becky wasn't amused, she went on, "I know it sounds retarded, but honest to god I was confused. So I decided the only way to find out for sure was to get in bed with someone. I trusted Cam, so I asked him."

To some it may have sounded like a miracle (or something out of a bad porno) that he got lucky quite a few times, but at that point it was a nuisance to Cameron. Taking a quick look around, he saw the jealous looks of some of the guys around that had been eavesdropping. Fuck. Odds were that he might have to endure another period of being shunned.

"I was a weak teenage boy," Cameron explained shamefully to Becky. "Hell, I still am!" Then he grumbled with discontent. "And thanks, Jules, for bringing up one of the most humiliating moments of my life!"

Becky looked confused, until Jules said, "Immediately afterwards I figured out I was into women." Becky couldn't help but start laughing, causing Cameron slam his forehead on the table in disgrace. "C'mon, Cam, you weren't bad, really," she said sympathetically, for what had to be the millionth time. "I just wasn't into it, that's all."

"Yeah, yeah," was his reply, just like every other time Jules tried to comfort him. Cameron was unable to look her in the eye for months after that incident.

"Besides, it was both of our first time."

"Great," Becky huffed, looking sullen again and leaning back in her chair. "It was enough dealing with the fact that he did it with Marge. Now there's another woman living here that he slept with at one point."

"Becky, that was two years ago," he assured her, hoping she wouldn't hold anything against him again. "You know I love _you_, right?" Cameron reached out to take her hand.

She just exhaled, saying, "I know. I know that I can't complain, either, seeing as it was that long ago. And at least you didn't get _her_ pregnant."

"Thanks," he said gratefully.

"Honestly, though, can you try seeing it from my point of view: What if one of the guys I had gotten it on with before suddenly showed up?" Becky asked.

Thinking about it, Cameron would give the guy a handshake and welcome, but on the inside he would not have been a happy camper. Seeing it all over his face, Becky declared, "See!"

Cameron's eyes traveled over to the clock and he actually sighed with relief. "I gotta go. Marge has a check up soon."

"Convenient," Becky muttered.

"See ya later," he said with a swift peck on the lips.

"So what else do you have on him?" Cameron heard her say to Jules as he grabbed his jacket and left the bar. He shook his head in amazement at how Becky's curiosity outweighed her discomfort.

Bracing himself against the cold, Cameron jogged over to the house, where he saw as Marge came out the front door. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded, so the two of them made their way to the clinic.

Once there the medic had Marge lie down and expose her very round belly. Cameron had no problem admitting that he was very impressed with the man. He had successfully dealt with the two previous pregnancies, and his workspace had three bookcases worth of medical textbooks.

"Okay, let's take a look," he said, applying the gel. Holding the wand, he began running it over her belly producing an image on the screen. "There we go. There we see the heartbeat…. Ready to find out if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Hell yeah," Cameron said enthusiastically.

Smiling, the medic began to move the wand around accordingly. All of a sudden, he moved it back to a certain spot and his smile dropped. "It can't be," he whispered in wonder.

"What?" Marge asked, concerned.

"No," the medic said softly, staring at the screen.

"What?" Cameron demanded.

"No," he repeated, abandoning the machine and heading to one of the bookshelves. The medic chose one book and began paging through it. "No, no, no, no, no—FUCK!" He threw the book clear across the room and stormed out while telling them, "Stay here!"

"What happened?" Marge asked sounding terrified.

"I don't know," he said, gripping her shoulder in fright.

After what had to be the longest ten minutes of Cameron's life, the medic came back with Henry Clayton (it turned out that the Christian crazies lost their only doctor). Without preamble, he quickly reapplied the gel and turned back on the ultrasound. Henry moved the wand around, and then he stopped abruptly. The man exhaled hard.

"You really do know your shit, Greg," Henry said heavily.

"What's going on?" Marge demanded.

The doctor laced his fingers together, saying, "Putting it simply, there's a problem with the placenta, and if it doesn't get fixed soon the fetus won't develop properly."

It felt as if someone dumped a bucket of ice in Cameron's stomach. Marge said desperately, "The baby won't make it?"

"No," Henry answered, shaking his head in remorse. "I give it two weeks, maybe less. I'm so sorry."

"How do we fix this?" Cameron asked breathlessly, as Marge broke out in tears.

"I can't perform the surgery—not without the proper equipment," he responded.

"Well, where's the proper equipment?" Cameron blurted out.

Henry sighed. "The only place that I can think of would be a hospital in the city. But from the stories that I've heard—the Madison Disaster, you guys call it—there's just no way."

"But if you _did_ have that available to you, then you could perform that surgery, right?" he asked.

"Cameron, you know just as well as the rest of us that the cities are a death trap!" Greg interrupted hastily. "Sorry, but Henry's right: there's nothing we can do."

"This is my kid!" Cameron yelled angrily. "You can't just stand there and tell me to give up on my kid!"

"Even if you came back alive I'm not sure I'd be up to perform such a delicate operation," Henry added.

Marge was remaining silent as she continued to sob. Seeing this, Cameron said, "I'm going to get what you need, and you _will_ try to save the baby!"

"Wait a sec!"

It was too late. Cameron stormed out the room, grabbed his jacket at the door, and walked outside. He went into autopilot for the first time since the outbreak. Even so, as he marched to what basically was Yuba's headquarters, Cameron knew that almost nobody would be willing to go back to Madison—and to a hospital, no less. No, this time Cameron was on his own, and in its own way that was right. His child's life was in danger, and it was his responsibility to do whatever he could to save it.

Walking through the front doors, Cameron headed right for the desk with the large key rack behind it. "Gimme the Hummer," he said to the person at the desk.

Celia looked up at him in a funny way, but stood up and did as she was asked. Before giving him the keys, though, she produced a clipboard. Without thinking, Cameron took the pencil and wrote down his name, the car, and the purpose for taking it out.

"Madison?" Celia read, as she had the keys snatched out of her hands.

"Is that some kind of joke?" The look on Cameron's face was all the answer she needed before he turned around and walked away. "Cam! Wait!"

A minute later Cameron was outside and entered the Hummer. He turned on the car, when Celia got in front of him and smacked her hands on the hood. "Get the fuck out, Cam! Why in the hell do wanna go to Madison for?"

Cameron revved the engine threateningly, and Celia jumped out of the way—only to pull out a pistol and shoot out the front tire! Pissed off, he got out of the car, pulled out his pistol from his belt, and pointed it right at Celia. "What did you do that for?" he shouted.

"Cam, you would've done the exact same thing if it was me or anybody else," she explained carefully, raising her hands. "Why Madison? Tell me what happened."

"My kid's in trouble—that's what happened! Now get me another car and let me go!"

"Put the gun down, and we'll talk to Isturez."

"There's no point!"

There was a resounding gunshot that wasn't from Cameron's pistol, and he immediately felt as if he was beaned in the back by a baseball going a hundred miles an hour, only sharper. Before toppling and blacking out, he wondered what the hell he did to piss off God, the fates, or whatever it was that endangered the life of his unborn child.


	40. Proposals

Groaning, Cameron tried to sit up but only got back down after feeling a sharp pain. He attempted to grab on to the spot that hurt, but found that his hands were bound. After finally opening his eyes he toughed through the pain and sat up. Right across from him Marge was sitting on a bench, and next to them were bars. The two of them were in a jail cell, but she wasn't handcuffed. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her face was lined with tears.

"What happened?" he asked her.

"Well, you went crazy and pointed a gun at Celia, so you were shot with a rubber bullet."

A rubber bullet to the back knocked him out? Wincing, Cameron lifted up his jacket and shirt to see a large brown and purple bruise towards the back of his right side. What the fuck? Was blacking out common, or was he just a pussy?

"Tell whoever the fuck shot me that they were lucky I kept the safety on, otherwise I could've hurt Celia," he said bitterly. Then Cameron got to more pressing business. "Well tell them to let me go. I have to go to Madison."

"Cam, it's suicide," Marge told him.

"That may be, but it's the only chance our kid has at being saved!"

Marge bit her lip. "Just let this go. It's not worth the risk."

Blinking, Cameron said, "What are you talking about? This is our child's life on the line."

"C'mon, Cam, you and I both know that this was just a fuck up to begin with."

"Why the hell does that matter?" Cameron shouted, standing straight up despite the pain. "This is still our kid, Marge, and I'm willing to do anything it takes to save it!"

"Not if it means losing you!" she countered shrilly. "You're one of my dearest friends, and I don't want you dying like that…or turning into one of _them_. Please, there will be other kids. This one doesn't matter."

Clenching his fists, he said through gritted teeth, "Look me straight in the eyes and tell me that you don't give one flying fuck about this baby."

She looked astonished, and gripped her belly. "I—I—you know I can't do that!" For months she and Cameron had been doing all sorts baby crap to get ready, and in that time they had really gotten attached to the new kid. In fact, ever since he had that near death experience with that "Quisling", Cameron had started to genuinely look forward to being a dad—it was no longer the burden of responsibility.

"Then I'm going to Madison." What he wanted to do was indeed stupid, but that didn't mean Cameron was ignorant of it. Of course he knew of the dangers behind it, going to the city would mean certain death. But he didn't care—the fact was that he couldn't just stand around doing nothing.

"What about Becky, Cam?" Marge demanded. "Don't you love her?"

"Damn straight I do."

"So let this go for her," she begged.

"If it was that easy for me to let go, then I might not have gotten back together with her," Cameron shot back. "Even if you keep me locked in here, and let that kid die, then I'll _still_ go to Madison for those supplies. You aren't gonna be the only person that'll ever need surgery!"

"You're really determined, aren't you?" a different voice said. Isturez walked into the room wearing a rather beaten expression. "And what you say is true: other people are gonna need surgery at some point in the future."

"No," Marge said, shaking her head. "Give me more time to talk him out of it."

"The man here is determined to save his child, and it'd be wrong for us to keep him from doing that," the Sergeant commented, now looking at Cameron. "I can't send the militia on a supply run to a hospital, Marsh," he said sincerely. "My ass would be tossed out of office before anything could get done. I did, however, ask if anybody among them were willing to volunteer to help you out."

"Thanks, but no thanks, Sarge. My kid, my problem."

Isturez shook his head pityingly. "Marsh, it took five trucks almost twenty-four hours to clear out the Target. Thirteen men and women signed up to help you, and I'll be providing you with a truck, _thousands_ of rounds of ammunition, two machine guns, and four days worth of food—that's right, four days!" he said in response to Cameron's shocked expression. "If and when that hospital is cleared, radio it in so we can collect the supplies."

"Are you serious?" Cameron asked, hoping he wasn't imagining things.

He produced a few sheets of paper. "Here are the directions, along with some schematics we found online. You'll be leading your team to St. Mary's Hospital in downtown Madison."

"Whoa! Hold on! I'll be _leading?_" he asked, dumbfounded. "What makes you think I can do that?"

"It's your operation, that's why. Besides, from what Harry told me you did a pretty good job back in Monroe."

"I couldn't have had full command for more than _five minutes!_" Cameron argued.

"Marsh, this is the way it's gonna go down. Take it or leave it."

Irked, Cameron looked back to Marge, then to her belly. "Fine." Isturez then opened the cell door and took off Cameron's handcuffs.

"Follow me." Isturez led the way out of the cell room and into the one next door. That was where all the thirteen people that the Sergeant had mentioned were gathered. Among them Cameron saw Cole, Sheila, and Walsh. "You'll be moving forward with the operation first thing tomorrow morning. Dismissed…. And God's speed."

"None of you have to go," Marge said in desperation, barging into the room as fast as her girth would allow. "How do you think it makes me feel knowing that all of you are risking your lives like this?"

"All life is precious," Louie Foreman said to her as he took his leave. "Why wouldn't I risk my life to give another a fighting chance?"

"My dad developed a hernia that needs fixing," Andrea O'Malley said. "You won't be the only one benefiting."

"Comrades in arms," Cole said to Cameron, patting his back as he left too. "I'd like to think you'd do the same for me if we switched places."

Nick Goldstein smiled and nodded at Cameron. "I owe you for freeing me back in Monroe."

The rest said similar words of encouragement as they left. Full of that encouragement, Cameron took Marge by the shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. "I gotta go see Becky…and get some ice on this—fuck!" he exclaimed, gripping his bruise.

Outside the cold actually felt pretty good against the bruise, but Cameron still walked a little funny as he went. "Cam!" called out Jules, who had been sitting just outside the building. "Shit," she said, rubbing her hands together. "They wouldn't let me in. But whatever, I wanna be on the team. I owe you that much."

"You only just started learning to shoot last week," Cameron reminded her. "You're nowhere near ready."

"That's the same excuse they gave me. Just let me go," she said indignantly.

"No, Jules. Do me a favor, if you see Celia before I do tell her I'm sorry."

Leaving her behind, Cameron entered Becky's home five minutes later. At the dinner table, he found her speaking with her aunt and sister. The two of them looked solemnly at him before standing up.

"I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I'm so sorry," Becky's aunt said sincerely.

"Thanks, Alice. That means a lot."

"C'mon, let's leave these two alone," Sarah said, leading her aunt out of the room.

Now alone, Becky looked away while Cameron spread out a hand towel, and then reached into the freezer to take out some ice.

"I have to go, Becky," he said, sitting down and pressing the cold towel on his bruise.

"I know you do," she responded quietly. "But I can't. It's suicide."

The fact that Jules had been willing to go was because she was a newbie that wasn't fully aware of the dangers, and that she thought she had to payback _everything_ that was done for her. Before the outbreak she didn't owe anybody a single penny. So that was why Cameron didn't find it a problem that Becky didn't want to go—actually he preferred it that way. "Trust me, it'll make me feel better knowing that you're safe here," he said, reaching across the table to hold her hand.

"Cam," she said, suddenly burst into tears, "I don't want you to go, either."

"I have to," he repeated.

"I _know_ you fucking have to!" she exclaimed, standing and wiping away her tears. "God, it's just that I'm reminded of how I felt after that new wave of zombies appeared at Target…how I thought you were dead. And we were only together for a few days back then, so now it's so much worse. I—I cant possibly face going through that again."

Standing up too, Cameron put down the icepack, took her by the hands again, and asked, "Will you marry me?"

The crying gradually came to a stop, as Becky looked up at Cameron confused. "What?" she finally said.

"I love you, so will you marry me?" Cameron hadn't pictured himself popping the question to anybody for at least another five to ten years, but here he was doing just that. From an outsider's point of view he knew that it was a stupid and irresponsible thing to do, similar to going to Madison, but Cameron knew how he felt and what he wanted (and besides, it was a zombie apocalypse).

Slowly Becky broke into a small grin and wiped her tears. "You just want to give yourself another reason to come back."

"True enough," he admitted, "but I mean it."

"This isn't gonna take my mind off what you're doing."

"Dammit, I'm really asking!" Cameron declared desperately.

Becky sighed. "Three years, then," she answered, holding up three fingers.

"Why so long?" he asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.

"Because after you get back, the surgery gets done, and the kid is born, you'll have a lot on your plate without having a wife being added to the list. Don't underestimate what a pain in the ass raising a child can be."

"I won't," Cameron said, closing the gap between them to kiss her. "And I'll come back, I promise."

"Don't make a girl a promise if you know you can't keep it," she said softly, causing Cameron to back off a bit in surprise. "What?" Becky asked, confused again.

"Cortana," he blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Fuck it, never mind," Cameron said, going back to kissing her.


	41. Into the Fire

Almost half the town must have gathered at the eastern gate the next morning. Most of them probably couldn't believe that just one truck would be going to a hospital in Madison, and they wanted to confirm with their own eyes. But there was no mistaking the militia truck with the recently attached cowcatcher parked in front of the gate, the large amount of food and ammunition, and the fourteen people that were saying goodbye to friends and loved ones.

Cameron made out with Becky for a good minute before he said, "Bye."

"Come back," she said softly. Cameron nodded and they kissed one more time before going to the next person.

"Don't do anything stupid out there," Marge told him. "Or at least no more stupid than what you're already doing."

"Honestly, can't you be grateful already?" he asked her.

She paused for a second and then gave him a tight hug. "Thanks, Cameron." Marge then proceeded to officially thank the rest of the people that volunteered.

"Good luck," Jules simply told him with a hug.

"Careful out there, Cam," Dennis said, shaking his hand. "Y'know I'd go with ya, but when I told Marge…let's just say she got scary."

"No problem. Just make sure to take good care of her incase—"

Dennis tightened the grip on his hand immensely, causing Cameron to flinch. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."

Cameron nodded, patted his arm, and moved on to pick up Jack. "See ya, buddy."

"Where are you going?" Jack asked curiously.

"I'm gonna go kill zombies."

"Why?"

"To save the baby."

"Is he in trouble?"

"Sort of, but I'm gonna make sure that changes." Putting Jack down, he turned and yelled, "Okay, mount up!" All the volunteers said their final goodbyes before getting on the truck, which had _very_ limited space in the back. Cameron climbed into the cab of the truck as the driver sat down behind the wheel and turned the truck on.

"If anything the cold is gonna be the real bitch," Tony said, blasting the heater and rubbing his hands together.

"That's why I made sure that everyone bundled up," Cameron informed him, unzipping his jacket, as it got warmer.

With the citizens waving goodbye and good luck behind them, the east gate opened, and Tony drove forward leaving safety behind. Watching the fenced cattle as they drove past them, Cameron wondered if he'd have the chance to have himself a nice, juicy steak one day. In no time Yuba seemed to be a million miles away with an endless amount of zombies before them.

"Everyone okay back there?" Cameron said into his radio to the people in the back.

"Affirmative," was the response.

Exhaling, he looked over at Tony and asked, "So how old are you?"

"Thirty-two next month."

"Does it seem retarded that someone my age is in charge?"

"Well you do have the most at stake," Tony answered with a small shrug.

"That means I shouldn't be qualified to lead."

"But you have the most experience with leading out of those of us here."

"It was five fucking minutes, Tony!"

The man sighed. "Look, I know we've never exactly hung out, but I've know some things about you. You turned up alive after everyone counted you out at Target, the Major died in your arms, and those religious crazies captured you. All of us in town went through some form of shit—but in your case it takes the cake!"

_Not to mention the run in with that fucking zombie wannabe_, Cameron didn't say. "So what? Are you saying I'm famous or something?"

"Psh! No, some of us in the militia just think it sucks to be you…y'know, other than the fact that you got the opportunity to bang one of the hottest women in town," he chuckled.

Rolling his eyes, Cameron avoided the subject by saying, "Becky was captured, too."

"Yeah, well, she isn't here, is she?" Tony responded. "Hey, can you do me and the rest of us a favor? Focus on the mission! You're in charge here, and we can't have you questioning yourself."

"Okay," Cameron said in defense. "I promise to keep my head in the game."

The next hour and a half passed in silence. As they traversed the back roads towards Madison, the truck picked up quite a few zombies along the way. Some were run over, others weren't able to keep up, but the more in tact ones were able to lock onto the truck and follow for a while. Obviously they weren't much of a concern, though, seeing as the truck was intentionally headed towards a city full of the things.

Cameron had actually played out his plan of attack the previous night, and he decided to go froth with part one when they were nearing the outskirts of the city. Spotting a van on the side of the road, he ordered Tony to stop beside it. Slightly confused, Tony obeyed nonetheless, and then Cameron ordered through the radio for everyone to meet up top.

Unlatching the hatch on the cab's ceiling, Cameron pushed it open and carefully climbed through. After climbing over the fence he waited for everybody else to get to the roof, and then spoke.

"See all these zombies?" he asked, gesturing to the twenty or so monsters surrounding the truck. The cold had made them things stiff and slow, but they were still relentless in their quest for flesh. "As all of you know this is only gonna get worse the farther into the city we go. And we are not leaving until we clear out that hospital, or we run out of supplies—whichever comes first. If any of you are having second thoughts just say so, and you can take that van over there home. I'll make sure that anybody that wants out isn't branded a coward."

"Seriously?" Cole asked, looking thoroughly annoyed. "You're just wasting time!" Actually Cameron wasn't, because he noticed three or four of them seemed to be having second thoughts and looked seriously tempted to take that offer.

"Well?" Cameron said to all of them, crossing his arms. "Should we clear out the zombies here or just move on?" For the next minute or so he just stared at them waiting for a response. The ones who looked tempted to go home remained silent, however. In the meanwhile a few more zombies appeared to join the ones already banging on the side of the truck. Sighing, Cameron said, "Okay, I want one machinegun to be mounted towards the front, that way whenever the zombies hold us up they can be mowed down. Volunteers? Thanks, Louie," he said to the owner of the first hand he saw. "Make sure to keep warm."

And so the truck started moving again, this time with no intention of stopping until it reached the designated hospital. Following the directions, they started getting closer and closer to the city. In the outskirts there started to appear more zombies than they could possibly handle, and the farther in they drove the more they encountered.

It was tense for Cameron as Tony plowed through zombie after zombie with the cowcatcher. He bit his thumb anxiously as the monsters they had to run over hindered their momentum. Eventually Cameron gave the order, and Louie began unloading the machinegun on the endless horde before them. The bullets either went through heads, knocked bodies down, or blew off some legs, so a lot of zombies fell to the ground and gave the truck space to move. And every time the zombies slowed them down enough, Louie would begin letting loose the machinegun again.

It was still slow going, though. Despite the street sweeper doing its job above them, there was no changing the fact that more zombies than ever before surrounded them. Cameron tried to keep a calm demeanor on the outside, but inside he was a mess. Like any leader he was constantly wondering what could and _would_ go wrong, but instead of planning for it Cameron was panicking.

Fuck, all he could see were zombies! At the rate they were going they were going to have to kill every goddamn zombie in the city. Cameron realized more than ever that he was most likely leading everybody to get killed. For Tony it must've been worse, Cameron thought. Because not only did he have to deal with the zombies but abandoned cars and other such obstacles that he had to avoid.

It was in the early afternoon that the hospital came into view, and the truck entered the parking lot. Cameron ordered for the truck to be parked parallel to the main building but a ways away from the main entrance. The engine was turned off, and Cameron ordered over the radio to meet him on top of the truck again.

Once everybody was present he told Louie to get back inside and warm up with the heater they brought along. The rest of the people were anxiously standing around with their rifles, shaking from either the cold or fear of the cluster fuck of zombies around them. It seemed now that everybody was having second thoughts, but it was far too late now. All Cameron could do for them was do his best job as a leader.

_That's right, I'm the leader_, he told himself. _I'm the leader, I'm the leader, I'm the fucking leader!_

"First off," Cameron said over the howling of the endless amount of zombies, "Everybody put on a pair of these." From his jacket pocket he produced a baggie full of earplugs. "We'll go crazy if all we hear are these fuckers moaning none stop." He took out a pair for himself then passed it around. "Also, I want the machineguns set up on both sides of the truck. This time _nobody_ is to shoot any zombies directly beneath us—I want to avoid moving this truck. And shoot out all the windows facing us," he told them, pointing at the main hospital building. "Hopefully a good amount of the things will take a dive trying to get to us…. Get to work, we'll be here for a while."

He pulled his scarf over his mouth and nose, trained his rifle up, aimed at a window, and shot it out. The zombie that was behind it, no longer obstructed, ran forward and ended up plunging down two stories. Everyone else got to work too, the machineguns were set up to Cameron's specifications, and so began the long and arduous work.

At that point Cameron tried to see it as just another supply run, but in the back of his mind he wondered if they had enough bullets and the resolve—because from the looks of it, they might have ended up attracting every goddamn zombie in the city.


	42. Bitter Work

Those earplugs were a blessing. Without them nobody would've been able to get any sleep, and would most likely end up being driven mad by the consistent moaning coming from all around them. During the night, the floodlights were set up so that the zombies killing could continue overnight for those that were awake.

At first things it seemed as if it would be a similar experience as Target, except that killing through the night didn't look to have made a dent by the next morning. The only clue that they were making any progress was a large pile of dead zombies a safe distance away.

Twenty-four hours after they had begun it was already starting to take its toll on them. Their meals were eaten in a confined space; and whenever someone had to use the bathroom he or she had to suffice with doing their business over the edge of the truck. And their rests weren't very restful seeing that they had little more than blankets to sleep on. It was definitely in the back of everybody's minds that they were going to have to deal with those living conditions (and the danger) for a few more days.

Seeing that Andrea was getting more and more fatigued, Cameron tapped her shoulder. "Take a break," he told her after she took out an earplug.

"I'm still good," she claimed, standing up straighter.

"Horse shit, go take a break, and wake up Jim and Natasha while you're at it."

"Aye, aye," Andrea said tiredly, strapping her rifle around her shoulder and climbing down the hatch.

"What about you?" Walsh asked, concerned. "You only barely got six hours of sleep."

"I'm fine," he said, waving it off and inserting his earplugs again. When nobody was looking he slapped himself a bit and shook his head before starting to shoot again.

But two hours later he decided that he indeed needed another sleep. There were four others catching some sleep near the heater already, so Cameron got as close as he could to feel the warmth and closed his eyes. When he woke up it was sundown, and when he reemerged outside he saw that they had to move the truck.

There was a huge pile up on either side of the truck, and while they were far enough away from danger it still hindered progress. The zombies were either trying to climb over the pile or walking around it, making the killing go slower. So Cameron ordered for every zombie between the truck and the piles eliminated, and after that was completed the truck was moved to another part of the parking lot. But of course moving it was difficult seeing as it was jam-packed full of cars that used to belong to desperate people looking for medical treatment.

When it got darker Cameron turned on the floodlights again. "We aren't getting out of this alive, are we?" Donald asked as he casually lit up a cigarette.

"Don't talk like that," Cameron said to him. "And where did you get that?"

"I get myself a pack or eight during every supply run," he explained, taking a drag. "Why? Want one?"

"No thanks, not my thing," he answered. "Besides, Becky's dad used to smoke, so she'd kill me if I took it up."

Donald chuckled. "Whipped, aren't ya?"

"If I was I wouldn't be here."

"You might as well be seeing as we're all gonna die here," Donald replied, tapping off the ashes at the end.

"I told you not to talk like that," Cameron admonished. "We'll all make it outta here."

"Maybe," he said.

"What's your problem?" he asked, lightly shoving the man's shoulder. "You actually _want_ people to die here?"

"'Course not," Donald said, getting his rifle ready to continue firing down, "just me."

"Fine," Cameron said crossly. "At least now I know who to call on if I need someone to go on a suicide run."

"If that's the case then I guess I'll apologize now for shooting you."

"So it was you?"

"Yup…and, yes, it was stupid of me to do it while you were pointing a gun at somebody—though you gotta admit, you had it coming," Donald told him, finishing off his cigarette and flicking it into the zombie horde below.

Cameron didn't respond and trained his rifle down once again.

Day two came to an end, and the third began. The truck was once again moved so that they could have a clear field of fire. Horribly it looked as if their ammunition was two thirds of the way gone, and the zombies just kept on coming. There really did seem to be no end in sight!

He called everyone to attention. "Obviously things have become more real," Cameron announced, crossing his arms, "so I wouldn't be surprised if more of you have been having second thoughts. If you wanna leave raise your hand." Five out of the thirteen people's hands went up instantly. "It's not the majority, so we're staying," he said apologetically to those that wanted to leave. "Tony, think it's possible to move the truck somewhere safer so that they can make a break for a car?"

"I supposed but I wouldn't advise it. It'd be a bitch to hotwire a car, drive it over all of these bodies, and get out of the city." The five hands went down.

Cameron shook his head and sighed. "Back to work," he said, training his rifle back towards the zombies. Bang! Another went down.

A few hours later when Cameron decided to take a quick break, he strapped the rifle around his back. As he was about to make for the hatch to go down, all of a sudden he felt somebody seize him around the neck from behind and press a gun into the small of his back! Cameron was then forced backwards to the rear of the truck before he could say anything.

In the process they bumped into Andrea, who stopped picking off zombies to see what hit her. Her jaw dropped. "Jim!" she cried out in horror. "What in the living fuck are you doing?" That got the attention of everybody else, all of whom looked just as stunned at what was transpiring.

"Order this truck to go home, Cameron," Jim demanded, pressing his neck and jabbing the gun even harder.

_Kinda difficult with you cutting off my circulation!_ Cameron wasn't able to say, fighting against his grip.

"Put the gun down," Cole ordered, now pointing his rifle at Jim, who immediately ducked his head behind Cameron.

"No," he answered defiantly. "We've been here for three fucking days and haven't gotten anywhere! It's time we get home!"

"All of us knew the risk of coming here!" Louie shouted angrily.

"That may be true, but back then I thought there was a chance—there isn't one! Let's just cut our losses and go home," Jim pleaded.

"…Ant…eeth…ahol," Cameron struggled to say, still fighting the arm wrapped around his neck.

"Huh? Oh."

Jim slackened his hold on Cameron, who immediately gasped as he took in fresh air. "I couldn't breath, you asshole!" he said with a cough.

"I'm sorry about what you're going through, Cameron, but order this truck to go home."

"The Sarge gave us enough supplies for four days," he told him, all too aware of the gun pressing against him. "It's only been three. Give it one more day."

"NO! I wanna go home!" Jim cried desperately.

"You won't have a home to go back to if you keep this up," said Cole.

"One fucking day, Jim," Cameron said, gritting his teeth.

"No."

"I'm not turning this truck around!"

"Then I'll shoot you."

"Do that and you're dead!" Andrea threatened, getting her rifle ready.

_I'd prefer not to get shot at all_, he thought, panic-stricken. But for that to be guaranteed Cameron would have to order the truck to go back, which he wasn't prepared to do.

"Don't be retarded," Cameron snarled. "If we go home like this you'll get your ass thrown in jail—if you're lucky! One day, Jim! If the zombies aren't cleared by that time then we'll have no choice but to leave."

Nobody talked for about a minute, and in that time Jim kept pressing the pistol into Cameron's back. Eventually, though, Jim let go, put pistol on the floor, and raised his arms in disgraced surrender. As he did so he gave Cameron a look that clearly said, _I'm a fucking idiot, aren't I?_

Cameron was about to order for Jim to be tied up until they got back to Yuba, when Andrea fired her rifle and grazed Jim's left leg. He collapsed with a yell and clutched his bleeding leg as he writhed on the ground. The only thing that kept him from rolling over the edge into the zombies below was the fence.

"I didn't order you to do that!" Cameron shouted at Andrea angrily.

"It's just some insurance incase he goes over the deep end again," she defended without remorse.

Cameron ran his hands down his face in frustration. "Fine, just—just take Jim down and patch him up." It would've been a pain in the ass to detain both Jim and Andrea until they got back to town, so he decided to let it go for now. As she did as she was ordered, Cameron noticed that everybody else all just staring at him. "What're you all standing around for? We only have one more day before we run out of supplies!"

That seemed to knock them out of their stupor, and they seemed to suddenly remember that zombies surrounded them.

The rest of the day passed, night came and went, and in the morning Cameron noticed something miraculous: there were less zombies. By the early afternoon Sheila was the one that killed the last one. It really did take four days, go figure. The parking lot was completely paved with zombie corpses, with well over a dozen huge piles.

"Tony," Cameron said with some anticipation, "move this truck in front of the main entrance." It was time to enter the hospital and take a crack at clearing it out.


	43. Marathon

It was a bit difficult for the truck to drive over all those corpses. Before trying to enter the hospital they drove around the entire building, shooting out windows and causing zombies to fall to their doom. Once back at the front they got into position, the truck was turned off again. Clearing the area of zombies was easily the most tedious part of the mission, but now began the most dangerous part.

Cameron laid out the schematics on the floor. "Just because we killed a fuck load of zombies doesn't guarantee that the ground floor of the hospital is clear. Both machineguns are to be pointed at the main entrance. I want five people with me to split into three pairs and slowly advance through the floor. Any takers?" Some hands went up, Cameron chose his people, and then threw a couple of rope ladders over the edge.

Before disembarking the six of them stocked up on ammo and screwed on silencers, then climbed down the ladder. For the first time in four days their feet landed on solid ground (actually it was a thick layer of rotting zombie corpses). They raised their rifles and slowly entered the hospital.

"Remember," Cameron whispered, switching on the flashlight taped under his rifle, "if you see a large group and can't finish them off quickly, call it in and high tail it back to the truck."

Natasha and Louie went right, while the rest maneuvered left. Cameron and Nick took a right down the first hallway they came across, and Andrea and Donald kept going straight.

Cameron and Nick checked behind every door, looked under ever counter, and scoured each hallway carefully. It was a hospital for Christ's sake. When the infection hit it was places like the one they were in that people came to hoping for help—only there was no help to be found, no cure. It was simply a death trap.

In every closed office the ground floor had there was always a zombie or a dead body. The hallways for the most part were virtually clear of zombies. Cameron figured that the zombies that had been wondering the hallways were drawn out by the noises coming from outside, or played follow the leader.

When they reached one door they were shocked to find one conference room that was stuffed with zombies. Looking through the glass door they witnessed the preserved zombies bashing against the walls and doors as soon as they caught sight of them. It looked like being spared from the elements had kept the things more or less in tact.

Cameron wiped his mouth nervously. "Have any ideas?" he asked Nick.

"Yeah," he said, though somewhat uncertainly. "I think I do." Nick led him back down the way they came. As they went Nick hugged the wall opposite to the room while still keeping an eye on it. Once he reached a certain point he stopped.

"So now what?"

"Flash the light as best you can on the door."

"Okay." Cameron pointed his rifle and flashed the light to the bit of the door he could still see. "What do we do now?"

Nick exhaled, and aimed his rifle. "Pray." He then unloaded a few rounds that blew off the doorknob, allowing the zombies inside the room to spill out. Before the things had the chance to regain their composure, Cameron and Nick began picking them off.

The horde noticed them and immediately began stampeding in their direction. All Cameron and Nick could do was walk back wards while continuing to put fire on the zombies coming at them. One ended up breaking through and getting way too close for comfort, so Cameron was forced to swing the butt of his rifle around to floor it. Stomping on its neck, Cameron aimed forward again to continue firing until the last one standing went down with a headshot.

Sighing, Cameron looked down at the monster that he was standing on as it tried to stand and claw upwards. He jammed the barrel of the rifle into the thing's eye and splattered its brains all over the floor.

"Probably not the best idea," Cameron commented.

"Yeah," Nick agreed. They continued onwards without saying another word.

As they traversed the halls slowly they noticed a sign pointing towards the cafeteria. _Oh shit_, he immediately thought. It must've shown on his face because Nick nodded in agreement. Nonetheless they quietly made their way there. The closer they got the more apparent the moaning became.

Keeping the backs to the wall, they peeked through the double doors and Cameron almost shit himself. There must have been over a hundred zombies were in there stumbling around and moaning, hungry for flesh. The things were so far inside the building that the four days worth of shooting went unnoticed to them.

Cameron bullied his brain to get past the fear and think. _Think, dammit, think!_

And a thought came to him. There was no possible way that he and Nick alone could kill all those zombies. He had to lead the things outside for another turkey shoot…. And there was only one surefire way that he could get the walking dead to follow him outside.

He tapped Nick's shoulder and gestured that they go back the way they came. Once they were far enough from the zombies, Cameron removed the flashlight from the rifle, and handed the gun to Nick.

"What's going on?" he asked cautiously, slinging the rifle over his shoulder.

"This will only slow me down," Cameron answered, putting the radio to his mouth. "Status report."

"So far so good," Louie responded.

"Same," said Andrea's voice.

"Okay, I want everybody to fall back to the truck for now. Report in when you do."

"Why?" Louie asked. "Did you run into a shit load of them?"

"Just do as I said." He cut the transmission, and said to Nick, "You go back too."

"What're you planning to do, Cameron?" Nick demanded.

"I'm gonna be the bait and lead the things outside."

Nick was left speechless for a second. "You—you're a fucking idiot!" he exclaimed, causing Cameron to urgently shush him.

"Go back to the truck, Nick. That's an order."

"No I'm not."

Without hesitating, Cameron pulled out the pistol from his belt and jammed it into Nick's chest—but just like with Celia, the safety was kept on. "You ever watch zombie movies before the outbreak?" he asked seriously.

Nick was startled and confused, so Cameron pressed the gun into him to scare an answer out of him. "Ye—yes, I've seen a few."

"In any of them were there some people that went on a fool's errand only to have one or two of them mauled by zombies?" Nick's response was a nod. "Well the odds of that happening now will decrease if it's only one person—and that's obviously me."

"Be reasonable!" Nick begged him. "Are you some sort of glutton for punishment?"

"I'll be fine," Cameron assured him, removing the run and pushing him. "I'll have a head start. Tell the others to be ready to pull me up as soon as I reach the rope ladder."

"You're being a shit head," he said to him as he turned to leave.

"Yeah, well, we can't get anything done until this hospital is clear," Cameron retorted. He began walking back towards the cafeteria, limbering up as he went.

Yeah he was a shit head, he agreed. It was stupid of him to not use protection back when he did it with Marge, stupid of him to have been ready to rush off to Madison in a Hummer, stupid of him to lead thirteen people to the city, and what he was about to do was just as stupid. But hell, luck's been on his side so far. Might as well try to push it.

Louie and Andrea both reported that their teams made it back to the truck.

As he approached the cafeteria again, Cameron slowed his pace as his heart started beating rapidly, pumping adrenaline into his system. He squatted next to the double doors to compose himself, stood up, and exposed himself to the zombies in the large room. They didn't notice at first until Cameron shined his flashlight on them, and blew the brains out of the closest ones with his pistol.

The monsters all let out a carnivorous roar that echoed through the halls, charged forward, and Cameron turned tail to get the hell out of there.

Before Cameron turned a corner he took a quick look back, and was shocked. The goddamn things were congested at the double doors as they all pushed to get through at once.

"Come on, you assholes!" Cameron shouted at the top of his lungs, raising the pistol to shoot the ones that were getting through. "I'm right here! Come and get me!"

That did it. Like a dam bursting, they all managed to burst through and ran at Cameron. Not holding back, Cameron sprinted at full speed. He could hear the pounding footsteps and the growling behind him getting closer and closer.

Cameron made a left down a hall that would take him back to the truck. He went only part way before coming to a stop and looked back to see the zombies come into view. Once they did a few kept on going straight, so to get their attention Cameron once again raised his pistol to use up remaining rounds. Seeing that he had their attention again, he sprinted once more. Light from the outside appeared down the hall, when all of a sudden he tripped on something!

Some of the wind was knocked out of him, and shook his head before looking to see what he tripped over. It turned out to be the corpses of the zombies he and Nick had killed earlier. _Shit!_ The zombies giving him chase were gaining fast. He wasted no time in going back to a full sprint. _Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!_

Cameron managed to reach the main entrance, and right there was the truck with everyone coaxing him to run faster. But the zombies were right behind him. Reaching the truck, he grabbed the rope ladder as he tried climbing while at the same time he was being pulled up. It was no use, though. The zombies were too close.

It turned out that somebody up there loved him. No sooner did Cameron think he was done for, than the two machineguns came to life and mowed down the zombies to cease their advance. He was quickly pulled up, and Cameron scrambled over the fence and collapsed on the roof breathing hard. As soon as he was safe, the rest raised their rifles to being clearing out the fresh wave of zombies.

A little while later, after the zombies were cleared, Cameron stood and thanked all of them. Then Walsh came up and punched Cameron square in the jaw, knocking him to the floor again.

"Sorry about that," he said, rubbing his knuckles. "But Marge made me swear that if you did anything stupid and lived that I'd punch you."

"I would've at least appreciated a little warning," Cameron groaned, standing again and moving his jaw around to make sure all was in place. As he got his rifle back from Nick, he said, "Sorry about earlier."

"Don't worry about it," he said with exasperation.

"No way the ground floor was cleared just by that," Cameron said to all of them, going back to business. "C'mon let's get back to it." He, Nick, Donald, Andrea, Louie, and Natasha all climbed back down to resume their zombie extermination.


	44. In the Dark

The teams checked every nook and cranny of the ground floor. Eventually they declared it clear. Cameron was ecstatic, because the ground floor held all the operating rooms. They could call in Yuba, and take everything back to town so that Henry would have everything he needed to perform surgeries. Still…the upper floors more likely than not also had supplies that would come very much in handy.

The only problem was that no supplies, whether on the ground floor or upstairs, were going to get salvaged with nothing to see with except flashlights. He spread the schematics and a map of the hospital he found on the hood of truck, and it showed that there was a basement with, according to Andrea, a backup generator. It was a bit of a long shot, seeing as those generators probably failed long ago, but it was either that or to continue working in the dark.

"Tony," Cameron ordered, rolling it up the sheets of paper and sticking it in his back pocket, "call Yuba and request backup. Walsh, Natasha, and Nick are on zombie watch. The rest of you are coming with me."

"I'm not sure I wanna follow someone as suicidal as you into battle," Sheila said skeptically.

"Stay here then," he responded indifferently. It was getting on in the afternoon, and Cameron wanted that basement cleared of any and all possible zombies before sundown. Rifle in hand once more, he started making his way back to the hospital…. A few steps later he realized that only Andrea and Donald were following him.

She looked back too, and said to them, "What's the hold up."

"Like Sheila said, Cam just acted pretty suicidal," Cole explained.

Cameron smacked his face. It didn't occur to him that the stunt he just pulled would bring his leadership into question. _I really am an idiot_.

He sucked in a breath of cold air, and told them clearly, "It may come as a surprise to some of you, but I'm not retarded enough to go into a dark basement crawling with zombies by myself." As Cameron spoke a zombie fell out of a window from above, and landed far off to his right cracking its skull open. He went on, "We didn't spend four fucking days out here for nothing. Now do you want this hospital cleared, or don't you?"

They all looked at each other, and eventually five people stepped forward. That was enough. Cameron led the way back into the hospital, and shined a light on the schematics to find his way to the door to the basement. Once they found the door, Cameron banged on it, causing growls and snarling noises to issue from the other side.

Cameron briefly contemplated on a variation of Nick's plan, by splitting the team in two, positioning them on opposite ends of door, and mowing down the zombies as they spilled out. But he quickly scrapped it, realizing that they might just end up shooting each other.

"I'm open to suggestions," Cameron announced.

Walsh spoke up, and they ended up using his plan. The team was indeed split in two. Cameron was with Donald, Cole, and Andrea. The rest fell back.

"Ready?" Cameron asked them. They nodded, so Cameron raised his rifle, which had the flashlight reattached, aimed at the door's lock, and shot it off.

Instantly the zombies spilled out of the basement, so they began picking the monsters off. The horde ran straight to them and before the things got too close, the four of them turned tail and ran. As planned, they made a tight left turn down another hall, making sure to hug the wall.

After running a few yards, Cameron and the rest stopped and pointed their rifles back the way they came. As the zombie horde followed them, all of the things slipped on the hand soap that a few minutes earlier had been spilled all over the floor. Without hesitation they began a barrage of gunfire on the zombies that tried and failed to get back up. When the floor was completely covered with dead bodies, the rest of the horde simply stepped over the corpses and continued to give chase.

That was the cue for them to continue their retreat. Soon enough they reached the other team, ran past them, and as soon they passed them they began a new barrage of gunfire. Cameron and his team didn't stop to look as they continued running until they reached the end of the hallway. Once there they took the opportunity to reload.

A minute later the other team came running towards them and stopped, and all eight of them pointed their rifles. Once the zombies reappeared they started shooting once more. The plan was that if they didn't finish off the zombies by that point then they'd go left to try to make for the truck.

Thankfully that didn't happen. The monsters thinned out, and the last one fell to the ground dead. Still they kept their guns at the ready just in case. It wasn't for another few minutes that they finally relaxed.

Slowly they went back in the direction of the basement. The floor was littered with the bodies of the undead, and it amazed Cameron how many people had managed to hide down in that basement. They made a right at the pile of bodies that had slipped on the soap.

"MOTHER FUCKER!" A zombie that was pinned down under the bodies had managed to extend its arms and grab Donald's leg so that it could sink its teeth in.

Donald pulled away and fell, as Andrea shot the zombie. Cameron and Cole proceeded to pull Donald back and put him against the wall.

"Fuck!" Donald grunted, clutching his bleeding leg.

Sighing sadly, Cameron knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, but you know your options."

"I may have expected to die, but not like this," he said, breathing heavily as he tried to stand.

"What the hell is up with you?" asked Cameron. He might not have been so concerned about the man's mental state if he hadn't already talked about dying two days previously.

"Lung cancer," he answered, trying to put weight on his wounded leg. "Been a smoker for thirty years, and I was diagnosed before all hell broke loose."

"So that's why you wanted to die?"

"Figure if I gotta go, I might as well go doing something meaningful," Donald said, sweating profusely. Using a knife, Donald cut off the sleeve of his sweater and tied it tightly around his wound. "There might still be zombies in the basement. Let me go first."

"Sounds good to me," Andrea agreed. Those in the vicinity all of a sudden gave her sharp looks. "What? He's clearly not all that upset he's dying."

"She's right," Donald confirmed.

Cameron exhaled. "Who the hell am I to stop you? Let's go."

Limping, Donald led the rest of the way to the basement door. He didn't even hesitate as he pointed his rifle and flashlight down the stairs, and started going down. Cameron was right behind him, as well as the six others. It was pitch black down in the basement.

"Which way?" Donald whispered, slowly continuing to lead the way.

Cameron handed his rifle to Andrea, and took the schematics out of his back pocket. "Shine some light over here," he asked Cole.

"It looks like the generator should be around here," Andrea said, pointing over Cameron's shoulder.

"Okay, watch my back," Donald said, raising his rifle and limping the direction of the generator.

To make sure that Cameron and the rest weren't snuck up on, they put their backs to each other and formed a circle to point their guns and flashlights outwards. Cameron was facing Donald as he proceeded onwards. The man's limping got worse and his breathing heavier. There was no doubt that the infection was spreading through his system fast.

A growling noise erupted from somewhere off to the left, and a zombie charged into view attacking Donald. His reaction was a bit slow, and he only just managed to hit the creature with the butt of his rifle. Donald was about to put an end to the monster, when another came from the right and bit him on the shoulder!

"Shit!" Cole yelled. He raised his rifle, put a round through the zombie's skull—and then in Donald's.

That only seemed to have caused a chain reaction. All of a sudden inhuman noises began erupting all over the basement, and more zombies appeared from the darkness charging at them. The remaining seven did their best to pick off the monsters coming from every direction.

"Don't break formation!" Cameron hollered, firing off round after round. Suddenly he came up empty and he had no time to reload. _Oh shit!_ Without thinking, Cameron jammed the barrel of the gun into the wailing mouth of the zombie charging at him. Immediately he broke out his pistol and put a bullet between its eyes.

It was a complete bitch to try and hold the rifle up so that he could shine the light at the end, and at the same time keep on firing his pistol. As he did that he heard "Oh fuck!" and other screams of pain and agony. Eventually his pistol ran out too, so he discarded it and smashed the next zombie with the butt of the rifle. Once on the ground, Cameron drove the heel of his boot through the monster's skull.

He then felt something grab him from behind, but Cole was right there to shoot the zombie at point blank range. Cole then quickly went over to Walsh, who was on the floor trying to keep a zombie at bay. Quickly kicking off the infected, Cole put a bullet through its brain. "Thanks," Walsh said shakily as he inspected himself. The entire thing had lasted less than two minutes.

"Kill…me," Cameron heard a gargling voice say. He pointed his flashlight down to see Natasha writhing on the ground, grasping at the bleeding gash on her neck. Next to her was a dead zombie that had obviously not been taken out in time.

Cole grimaced and pointed his pistol at her, but Cameron stopped him. "I'll do it," he said solemnly. Taking the gun, he pointed it, and said sadly, "I'm so sorry."

"Get it over with," she gasped, splitting up blood and becoming paler by the second.

Natasha closed her eyes, and Cameron pulled the trigger. He knew that later he was going to dwell on that fact that it was his fault. She wasn't the only victim, though. Louie and Jake had bites on their shoulder and forearm, respectively.

"Kind of appropriate, ain't it?" Jake said, collapsing on the ground and laughing a little.

"What?" Cameron had to ask.

Jake unzipped his jacket to reveal he was wearing a red shirt underneath. "Don't know why the fuck I even came," he said, his voice becoming shaky. "We never said two words to each other."

"Was it because you heard 'Pregnancy in trouble'?" Cameron said, sounding sorry.

Jake nodded as his lips trembled. "I'll take option three, by the way."

A bullet suddenly went off, and Cameron turned just in time to see Louie fall dead as a gun fell from his hand.

"Ballsy," Jake commented as he started to cry. "Don't waste this, Cameron. Take good care of that kid of yours."

"I intend to."

Donald, Louie, and Natasha's bodies were carried off upstairs. Jake went upstairs too, and it was up to Cole to do the deed when the time came. It turned out that Andrea had lucked out, because a zombie had managed to grab on to her, but it only managed to bite into the insulation of her jacket.

Cameron reloaded his rifle, and he and Andrea pressed onward towards the generator. Upon finding it, she began to inspect it. It took a few tries, but she eventually got it to run and the lights turned on to illuminate the basement.

"Maybe we should wait for backup before we clear the upper floors," Andrea said when they headed back to the truck. Cameron agreed.


	45. Fruits of Labor

With the backup also came zombies. Cameron and the rest of the team watched on top of their truck as many others pulled into the parking lot bringing a shit load of zombies with it. Strangely enough there was also a bucket truck, the kind that was used to fix power lines. "My idea," Tony said with a rather smug smile. Cameron decided to wait until later to ask what it would be used for. The next couple of hours were spent killing all of the zombies. When that was done, all the trucks were positioned with the rear facing the main entrance of the hospital.

Cameron scaled down his truck in search for Harry, when he was suddenly slammed against the side of it, and a pair of lips mashed onto his. "I'm so sorry," Becky said, weeping and keeping her face close. "I should have come. It was horrible being over there and not knowing what was happening."

"It's okay," he assured her, brushing her hair back and kissing her. "I missed you." Cameron couldn't help but go back in for another make out session to inhale Becky's intoxicating scent, seeing as for the past several days all he could smell were rotting corpses. And it was a miracle that she was into it because he hadn't showered or brushed his teeth in as long a time.

There was a loud and false coughing sound, and Cameron and Becky immediately backed off from each other. "Robinson, get back to your post. Status, Marsh," Harry ordered, as Becky left.

Biting his lower lip, he said, "The ground floor and basement have been cleared. So far we have four dead and one wounded."

"One wounded?" Harry asked, a bit confused.

Nodding, he led Harry to the inside of the truck.

"What in the holy hell happened?" Harry said, when he saw Jim was tied up.

"He got a little desperate," Cameron explained. "But he at least came to his senses by the end of it."

"So why his leg?"

"Got shot."

"By who?"

"My bad," Andrea said, poking her head down the hatch.

Harry looked pointedly at Cameron. "Did you order her to do that?" He shook his head. "Well, Andrea, I'm afraid you'll be spending a week in holding once we get back."

Her jaw dropped. "What about Jim? He pulled a gun on Cameron!"

"Yeah, well, I say you shooting him was punishment enough."

Andrea looked at Cameron pleadingly, but he just raised his hands in defense. "Hey, you're probably lucky that that's all you're getting." Cursing under her breath, Andrea retracted her head and they could hear her stomping around up top.

Shaking his head, Harry removed the gag from Jim's mouth. "Are you gonna cause anymore problems?"

Jim shook his head. "I'll behave. I'm sorry about what I did earlier."

"Alright, just see if you can make yourself useful—I don't care how." Jim's bonds were cut but he was denied any weapons.

"So four dead?" Harry asked solemnly as he changed the subject. Cameron nodded, and Harry patted him on the back. "Couldn't be helped, Marsh. This was a dangerous mission to begin with, so consider it lucky it was so few."

Cameron rubbed his eyes. "So what now?" he asked tiredly.

"Well, I suppose we clear the upper levels, and after that we load up all necessary hospital equipment whether or not it's bolted to the floor."

"Gonna be a bitch clearing the upper levels," Cameron commented.

Harry smirked. "Trust me, it won't be a big a bitch as you might think." Before Cameron could ask any question, Harry hopped out of the back of the truck, and said as he closed the doors, "Get back up top."

A few minutes later Cameron found out what the bucket truck was for. Tony had a pretty satisfied on look as one person got into the driver's seat, and other got into the bucket. As it drove to the end of the building, Cameron noticed that the bucket was able to rise higher than more conventional ones.

"You see, the only way to get to the upper floors would be to take the stairwell…not a good idea with all those monsters roaming the halls up there," Tony explained, as the bucket rose near the first window of the second floor. "So when I contacted command I proposed this idea."

The man in the bucket raised a rifle and shot off a couple of rounds. He let out a sharp whistle, and a few seconds later zombies began trickling out of the window one by one. Cameron watched in amazement how zombie after zombie fell down to the pavement below. He thought that all those zombies would've been taken care off when the windows were shot out in the first place—but he didn't take into the account that the doors to most, if not all, of the room were closed.

It was getting on in the evening, so Cameron didn't get a clear a view as he might have liked. Still he did notice that not all the zombies ended up splitting their skulls open. But it was no problem for the gunmen on the nearest truck to pick off those that survived the fall.

When the zombie spill slowly came to a stop, the guy in the bucket raised his rifle again. He began firing off round after round, presumably to finish off the remaining monsters inside. Then the bucket truck moved on to the next window and the guy fired a few more bullets to take down the room's door. That time there was no zombie spill, so the truck moved on.

The same procedure was done at every single window on that side of the hospital, only getting a zombie spill every so often. The bucket was raised, and the same thing was done to the third floor. Eventually the fourth floor was done as well. With that side of the hospital done, Harry ordered the bucket to the north end of the hospital where the whole process was started over again.

It took all night to do that to every side of the hospital. In the morning Harry formed a couple of teams to be set up at every stairwell so that they could take care of the remaining zombies undoubtedly left in the hospital. Orders were to leave any unopened rooms alone if they most likely didn't contain any necessary equipment. With Cameron were Cole, Nick, and Andrea. Each had at least three fresh magazines.

"Team two in position," Cameron said into his radio.

Over the next few minutes the rest of the teams confirmed that they were ready.

"Shit!" someone cried over the radio. "Be advised—infected in the stairwells. Man that was close."

"Ready?" he asked them. Receiving nods, Cameron shot off the door lock and hinges. They raised their rifles as the door fell backwards and crashed to the floor. That generated some echoed growls from above, and they waited. Less than a minute later some zombies came tumbling down the stairs to come after them. It was no problem as they were picked off with well-placed headshots.

After a few seconds, Cameron signaled for them to proceed up the stairs. Slowly and ever vigilant the four of them went up step by step. One was never too careful in zombie country.

When they reached the door to the second floor, Cameron once again shot off the lock and hinges. And again they waited just outside the doorframe for any potential zombies. None came after a minute so they proceeded forward.

The halls and rooms with windows were practically empty, except for some crawlers and former patients that were tied down in bed. A quick bullet or a knife did the trick. Just as they were ordered, they skipped places such as conference rooms, break rooms, and closets despite the scratching and banging caused by the zombie menace behind those doors, which had Xs carved in just to make sure no one opened them. When they did come across a closed room that likely had useable supplies but also had zombies in it, it was a simple matter of taking down the door and picking off the things.

Every so often they'd run into another team that was also traversing the halls. Whenever that happened they would quickly explain where they've been and the spots zombie killing took place. During one of those run-ins Cameron saw that Becky was part of the group. Information was exchanged, and before the teams separated, Cameron gave Wesley, the one in charge, a look that clearly said, _Don't you DARE let anything happen to her!_ The man got the message loud and clear.

Eventually the other teams started calling in through the radios that they finished sweeping their section of the second floor. Cameron did the same. Orders were now to head back to the stairwells and proceed to the third floor.

It was the same drill. Cameron and his team simply kept walking at a slow steady pace, keeping their rifles up.

"HELP!"

The scream came from down the hall. Cameron saw as Kat sprinted around a corner towards them, and immediately behind her was a small stampede of zombies.

"Hit the floor!" Cole shouted in panic.

She did so without question, and the team immediately began to firing off round after round. The bullets flew over Kat, and hit the pursuing zombies. The four of them made sure to take out any that got too close to her, and soon enough they were all taken care of.

Once done Cole wasted no time in rushing forward to her. "You okay?" he asked, checking for any bites as he helped Kat sit up. She let out a sob and nodded. Kat then threw herself on him, and she and Cole were soon making out.

"What happened exactly?" Cameron asked after giving them a bit of time.

Kat wiped her tears and stood up. "There was a room that was labeled for medical supplies, so my team decided to clear it out…. Only we underestimated how many of the fucks were in there." She leaned into Cole's shoulder. "Doug, Red, Jorge—they're gone."

Eventually she composed herself enough to lead the way back to where she was, and there they discovered the remains of their comrades being feasted upon. The zombies were quickly dispatched, and the three bodies were each given a bullet to the head. Cameron called in the location of the remains, and Kat joined the team as they continued to scour the floor.

It was without further incident that the rest of the teams cleared the third floor. The same went for the fourth. There were a shit load more zombies on the rooftop, but it was decided that there was no point to bother with them. The door was barricaded for good measure, and except for some certain rooms the hospital was declared clear.

Like Harry had said, all vital equipment started being loaded. And even if something was bolted down it was torn right from the floor. Henry Clayton was present to make sure that they got everything that they need or might need at some point in the future. The man was like a kid in a candy store.

It took over a day to make sure that everything they'd ever need right down to the last roll of toilet paper was loaded up. Some trucks even had to leave for Yuba and come back because it had been filled to capacity. The hospital was checked, double checked, and triple checked for any supplies, seeing as there was no way they were going to risk returning.

Once everything was loaded, Harry gave a rather surprising order, "Burn this building down." Almost immediately gas was being siphoned from some of the abandoned cars in the parking lot, then spilled all over the ground floor. One match later and the fire started spreading.

A little while later Cameron got into the cab of the truck he initially came in, and the convoy began rolling home. The convoy left the parking lot turning right to go south. It was decided before hand that they'd take the most direct route out of the city, even though it would take a bit longer to get home. The hope was that any pursuing zombies would get left behind and wouldn't be able to follow them back to Yuba.

The thought of thousands of zombies on their doorstep chilled everyone to the bone.

Suddenly a voice came over the CB radio: "Uh, Harry, we've got a bit of a situation back here."

"What?" said Harry's voice.

"Well, I'm looking at my mirrors and we have some buses on our tail."

Cameron and Tony quickly glanced at each other in confusion, and there was a pause before Harry said, "Any zombies?"

"Including the ones we already attracted? A shit load."

"All trucks are to come to a stop. All leaders go up top."

After all the trucks hit the brakes, Cameron grabbed his rifle before climbing through the hatch. _What fun_, he thought, wondering what was in store for them now.


	46. Refusal

_One of those people better have the cure for cancer_, Cameron thought, looking to the north as he watched three buses come closer and closer. Those buses, which were nowhere near as big as the eighteen wheelers the militia used, had to plow their way through a thick horde of zombies, so it was rather slow going for them. Behind the buses were some wisps of black smoke the indicated that the fire was spreading at the hospital.

Below his feet he heard a banging noise, so he opened the hatch. "What's going on?" Cole asked, getting nods from everyone else down there.

"Looks like we have survivors heading our way," he informed them.

"Survivors?" Nick inquired.

"I'll see to it that you guys find out more later," Cameron said. "Oh, and uncuff Andrea just in case." He walked away from the hatch before they could throw any more questions at him.

To Cameron's left and right all of the trucks were lined up bumper to bumper, and on the roof of each were the leaders with their rifles. On top of the truck at the front of the line he could see Harry, who yelled at all of them, "Don't let your guard down!" There was a series of clicking sounds as all the leaders flipped the safety off.

Finally the three buses came to a stop next to the convoy. On the ground beneath all of them was an endless supply of moaning, hungry zombies that continued trying to reach up to grab at those out in the open.

Then all of a sudden the some of the windows were opened and rifles were pointed through them. _Shit!_ Cameron thought horribly, wasting no time in aiming his own rifle. He wasn't the only one, though, as the other truck leaders raised their rifles too. Cameron's hands got sweaty as he aimed down at one of the windows, praying that nobody would fire.

He was so close. The salvaged medical equipment simply had to be taken back to Yuba so that his child could be saved. It wasn't even all for his child, either. While that may have been the catalyst, the equipment was going to be used to save more lives in the future. But the people that appeared before them could ruin all that. Cameron took lives before for the sake of living in peace, so he had no qualms about having to do so again if left with no other choice.

Then the emergency exit on the roof of the first bus opened, and a black man in an army uniform climbed up waving a white shirt tied to a stick.

"We don't want to fight," he claimed. "There are fifty civilians in these buses, and an engagement between us would cause them harm as well."

"We can't just take your word for it," Harry responded. "Show us—preferably a child so we can be certain. I know what that sounds like, but we have nothing to gain from harming a kid."

The man looked reluctant, but he looked down the emergency exit and spoke to some people. A few minutes later a scared looking dark haired woman climbed out closely followed by a little girl no more than five years old. Harry then said that he was convinced and that they could go back inside.

"Thank you, now please stand down," the man said.

"You first."

"But—"

"Having civilians isn't a total guarantee that you won't start shooting at us. Besides, if we were hostile then we'd have begun shooting the second you people were in range."

Again, he spoke down at the people within the bus, and a few seconds later the guns withdrew from the windows. Harry gave the signal, and all the truck leaders lowered their weapon as well.

"One other thing," Harry said. "It's been seven months since the outbreak, so where the hell have you people been all this time?"

"A mall to the northeast of here," the man answered, causing some of those present to look at one another in surprise. A mall of all places? Seriously? "We only managed to escape now because for the past several days there was a decline in the number of infected surrounding us. Now, who exactly are all of _you_?"

"We're survivors. What does it look like?"

"I mean which fighting force did you belong to?"

"Some of us here were National Guard," Harry answered. "Although we trai—"

Harry stopped when the man spoke to the other people for a third time. Only this time another man wearing a trench coat climbed out. He took a second to look up and down the convoy and rubbed his gloved hands together. "I am Governor Arnold Sutler," he announced to the surprise of the some of his listeners. "And from here on in I shall be calling all the shots."

"_Excuse me?_" one of the trucks leaders said in a high-pitched voice. Many others, including Cameron, were taken back by that declaration and had small outbursts of their own.

"You heard me," Sutler went on, unfazed. "You're National Guard, which places you under my authority. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Harry said spoke up. "We do understand." If Cameron didn't have any respect for Harry then he might have shot him. "But before we speak any further let's go somewhere less packed with infected to talk."

"Lead the way, then," Sutler told him, as he and the man went back into the bus.

"Turnbull, Marsh, Evans, set up a machinegun so those zombies in front of those buses can be mowed down," Harry ordered as he went back into the cab.

"Get the machinegun and clear the zombies between the first two buses," Cameron ordered the people inside his truck.

"Who?"

"I don't care." Cameron was pissed. And since he was a truck leader he might as well make the most of his position. When he reentered the cab he heard the CB radio going berserk.

"What the _fuck_, Harry?"

"Bullshit!"

Cameron picked up the mouthpiece, and yelled angrily, "Our leader is Isturez, remember?"

"I didn't even vote for this guy!"

"We don't even know anything about these people."

The bitching and moaning just went on, until Harry finally shouted, "WILL ALL OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! I told Sutler that I understood that we're supposed to be under his authority. What I didn't say was that I didn't give a rat's ass—and when we get to a place that'll allow us to get more of our guns out into the open I'll tell him that." Cameron leaned back into his seat and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. There wasn't much point in suddenly having a politician coming in and taking charge in that day and age.

"Odds are he won't like that," Wesley said with some concern. "If he'll want a fight do we intend to give it to him even with all those civilians?"

"Only if he's petty enough. This is how things need to happen."

The machineguns allowed the buses to get moving again, so they joined the convoy as they made their way out of the city. Over the next several miles the area had blessedly become rural again. Not since the day of the outbreak was Cameron happy to see nothing but rolling hills and farmland. The zombies that had given them chase from the city were eventually shaken off in a series of twists and turns.

The convoy was now going east on a bare stretch of road. Eventually Harry gave the order for trucks to pull off to the side of the road. The buses too came to a stop next to the convoy, and the doors swung open to let some people off. The truck leaders disembarked and followed Harry as he walked up to meet face to face with Arnold Sutler. In the meanwhile the rest of the militia got on the roof of the trucks to perform zombie watch, and to help out if things went downhill.

From each bus four soldiers got off. That made fourteen in total, including the first man they spoke to and Sutler.

"What's going on?" Sutler demanded testily. "We can't afford to waste time. There's a rescue operation that I want to get in the works."

Harry had opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it as he looked at Sutler curiously. "A rescue operation?" He gave a quick look to his leaders and they were all probably thinking the same thing: it was less than an hour since the guy thought himself in command.

"Yes, to the University of Maryland."

That caused some immediate muttering. "Uh…you _do_ realize that that's on the east coast, right?" Harry asked as if speaking to someone slow.

"Of course, but my son goes there. I can't give up hope until I find out if he's alive or not."

"Listen," Harry said, running his hand over his mouth, "you're family wasn't the only one torn apart by this. I myself haven't heard from my sister and her family—but I can't just abuse our resources and go all the way to Phoenix."

"Well I can."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, becoming more aggressive. "Even if were letting you take power there is no chance in hell that anybody would go along with that plan.'

"Sorry? 'Letting' me take power? I _am_ taking power because that is my duty. You're National Guard, I'm the governor, so you listen to me!"

Harry crossed his arms. "Not all of us here were National Guard."

"Be that as it may, but as citizens of Wisconsin—"

"I'm from Minneapolis, dude," one of the truck leaders spoke up.

"I'm from Chicago," Cameron said indignantly.

"So, yeah, you aren't taking power," Harry said firmly.

Sutler turned around and looked helplessly at his gunmen, who were just at a loss at what to do as he was. After all, they were outnumbered. "Well—well my people aren't just going to accept this! For the past seven months I was the one who kept things in order, the one who made sure I food supply lasted us as long as it did, and the one who made sure there was no chaos when we started running low."

"So you're saying that some of the people here haven't eaten in a while?"

"Yes—but they might have gone longer if it wasn't—"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said dismissively. "Marsh, Wesley, Dorian. Get some of your rations and hand them out." He then added quietly so only they could hear, "And make sure they know what we're doing here, because it's our way or the highway. I want there to be no surprises when we get back home."

"Don't move!" Sulter said angrily and futilely. "I will not trust the lives of my people to a bunch of…of—rebels!" Harry and the truck leaders immediately began laughing at those words, causing Sutler to get even angrier.

Cameron and the other two went to the trucks and collected some of the rations into boxes. Once they had enough, they went into different buses and began handing them out. When Cameron appeared on the bus they were curious about the newcomer, but quickly lit up when they saw he was handing out food. Many of the adults were malnourished and Cameron had to tell them to keep back to make sure that everyone got some food.

As he was handing out the rations some of the people bombarded him with questions. What were they doing? Where did they come from? What would they do now? Was everything okay now? A lot even wanted to know why such a young person like him was carrying a gun. When Cameron was done he put the box down and called for attention.

"I have a bit of an announcement. Right now Arnold Sutler is bitching at my CO because he and none of our people are cooperating with him," Cameron told them, causing a few looks to be traded around. "We aren't tyrannical, we aren't a dictatorship, or anything like that. It's just that we're proud of what we've accomplished these past seven months, and we aren't about to let anybody come and potentially fuck with it. Is anybody here not willing to trade Sutler's leadership for food, shelter, and warmth?"

Silence met his words for a few seconds, then one of the people stood up. "Um, you see, I can't imagine any of us mind…but the problem's Sutler."

"He's being handled, don't worry."

"No, that's the thing," she went on. "He did a pretty good job at first. But as time passed he became more and more unhinged.

Cameron arched an eyebrow. "How unhinged."

The woman raised her wrists, which were bound, something Cameron must have missed during the initial rush to get food. "I'm a nutritionist, and I just kept on trying to get him to change the way he distributed food."

"And last month there was small talk of making him step down," another person said. "The people responsible were thrown over the walls of the mall to the zombies—still alive!"

There was an instant uproar of more excuses. "It's his family," a voice said over the crowd. "He lost his wife and daughter that first day when he was being evacuated before ending up at that mall. Now he thinks that the only chance his son in Maryland has at rescue is if he stays in charge."

He was getting a lot more than he bargained for. "Okay! Hey, shut up! I got it. Let me ask how much longer it will be until we leave."

Back up front he saw that Harry was still arguing with Sutler. The other two that handed out food told Cameron a similar story of how the governor was losing it.

"I keep on telling you that that title doesn't mean jack shit these days," Harry shouted.

"And I keep telling _you_ that I am not giving up my duty. I swore an oath that I intend to uphold."

"That's it," he said, turning away from Sutler. "Get me Andrea's handcuffs. This stubborn idiot needs to be held down more than she does."

"I'm tired of this," Sutler declared. "Fire!"

On pure instinct did everyone with a gun turn their weapons on Sutler and his gunmen, but they managed to not pull the trigger. The gunmen all looked scared and confused about what to do. All they did was raise their rifles halfheartedly without actually picking a target.

"Enough!" the man that had spoken to them first said, stepping in front of the man. "Sir, we are outnumbered and outgunned. But they clearly have no hostile intentions. I say we just go along with what they say, otherwise they might just leave us here."

"Are you siding with these rebels, Bowman?" Sutler spat.

"I'm just thinking about what's best for all of us."

"Well that isn't what I need from you!" With one hand Sulter pushed the man out of the way, and with the other he took a pistol out from Bowman's holster. He then haphazardly took aim at Harry's turned back, and pulled the trigger. A round went off, catching Harry and taking a bloody chunk out of his left side.

Cameron didn't even think. With his rifle already out, he trained it on Sutler and let off two rounds—but he wasn't the only one. Five other people had joined in, and in less than three seconds Sutler fell to the ground riddled with bullet holes.

Harry had fallen to the ground too, and he was letting out painful noises as he grasped at his bleeding wound. Everybody began flocking to him, and Cameron could see the gash created by large amount of missing flesh. Henry had rushed forward and immediately took command.

"We have to get him back home quickly," Henry ordered, as he and Dorian carried Harry off.

"You!" Wesley said angrily to Bowman. "You and your men can stay loyal to that dead man, or you can come with us. Either way the civilians clearly wanna come with us, so if you do too I suggest getting back on those buses now."

There was an immediate scramble to get things back in order. Cameron and other truck leaders had to shout and scream for people to get back on their trucks. Finally the vehicles started rolling again. _What a goddamn waste of time_, Cameron thought to himself, thoroughly pissed with the whole thing.


	47. Back Home

The east gate couldn't be opened immediately because enough zombies had followed them home that they became a hazard. Normally they save bullets by stabbing down at them, but seeing as Harry needed to get to the clinic right away they simply shot the things. Ten minutes later the trucks were grouped up outside the clinic ready for unloading, while the buses were directed to park at the community center, where tables filled with food were waiting for the civilians (whose arrival had been made known beforehand).

"Cam!" Marge exclaimed.

"Hey!" he responded happily, giving her a hug after he got out of the cab. "How've you been?"

"Worried as hell, of course. That's not good for the baby."

"Yeah, neither is not getting the surgery," Cameron said back. Then he got down to eyelevel with her belly and said, "You're going to be okay, I promise."

"That kid better be okay after all the crap we went through," Andrea commented after she hopped off the truck.

Cameron was about to say something, when Isturez appeared with Celia by his side. "Harry told me yesterday what happened, Andrea. I'll cut you a break and reduce the punishment to four days," he announced, strolling past them. "Turn your weapons in and go with Celia."

"Let's go," said Celia, putting a hand on Andrea's shoulders.

Andrea rolled her eyes frustration. "Fuck it, fine!" she breathed, handing over her rifle and pistol.

"What happened?" asked Marge.

"Don't ask," he sighed, looking towards the clinic as Greg and an assistant ran out carrying a gurney, which they took to the truck Harry was on._ Shit that's right_.

Cameron jogged over as Henry helped heave Harry onto the gurney. Isturez and other people were there to also make sure that the military leader was okay. Harry was having an oxygen mask put over his nose and mouth as he was being lifted away.

"Don't worry, Harry, we'll get you patched up," Henry said, continuing to put pressure on the wound.

"No, Greg will," Isturez said as they walked along.

"Are you sure—?"

"Yes, Greg was trained to handle this in the first place," Isturez told him flatly. "I need you to start offloading all the medical equipment."

"Whatever you say."

"Wesley, Marsh," Isturez went on.

"Sir?" Cameron and Wesley responded at the same time.

"Wesley, you're acting Defense advisor until Harry gets better—Marsh, you're his number two."

"Yes, sir," Wesley responded crisply.

"Me number two?" Cameron asked, taken back. "Is that really the wisest move?"

"Are you going to give me a reason to regret that?" Isturez asked back, raising an eyebrow.

"No, sir," he responded tiredly, deciding to no longer question decisions that rose his prominence. _Fuck_. Isturez nodded and took his leave.

Marge then punched his shoulder proudly. "Hey, this is something! If this keeps going, then imagine what you could tell your kids one day."

"Ah, speaking of which," Henry piped up. "If we set everything up tonight then we should be ready to perform the surgery tomorrow."

"Really?" Marge asked breathlessly, as a smile grew on Cameron's face.

"Yup," he responded with a nod. "But remember that I'm not as experienced as I'd like to be to perform it."

"But you're the only guy who can!" Cameron said, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. "Don't wimp out now."

"I'm not, I'm only saying in case—"

"You want me put a gun to your head during the surgery so you'll be more motivated to do a better job?" Cameron asked as sincerely as possible.

"Enough, Cameron," Henry sighed. "Let's just get all that crap off the trucks, shall we?"

As tired as Cameron was, so were a lot of the people called upon to help unload the trucks. Over the next few hours, even though it was getting late, people were up and about. They were mostly the newly fed arrivals that didn't want to spend their first night in Yuba sleeping on a cot, and instead took in what little there was of the town. Some of them offered to help with the moving, seeing as those supplies were the reason they found rescue in the first place.

Cameron had finished taking in a box of scrubs and yawned as he went back outside. As he was about to find himself another box or machine to help take in, Cameron suddenly found himself slammed against one of the trucks. He had banged the back of his head, so it was a second before he noticed that a blonde woman was leaning up against him.

"Hey, cutie," she said, lessening the gap between them. She looked malnourished like the rest of the survivors, but Cameron instinctively knew that if given some time she'd be a knockout.

"…Huh?" was all Cameron managed to blurt out.

"I saw you along with the rest of your people standing up to Sutler. Big turn on," she told him seductively.

"Uh…okay," he said stupidly. Cameron tried to say something else but he was drawing a blank. Never before had a complete stranger randomly hit on him (and certainly never one as hot as her). So what was going on?

"I'm Natalie."

"….Cameron," he answered, still unsure about the situation.

"Thanks for rescuing us from that idiot. Have your own place? Because if there's anything I can do…" She put her lips to his ears. "_Anything_."

The moment Natalie's hand grabbed his crotch Cameron came to his senses. "Generous offer," he said, his voice cracking as he peeled himself off her. "But I'm spoken for, sorry."

"You sure?" she asked in an alluring way that would make any man rethink Cameron's decision.

"He's sure."

Becky walked up to them looking thoroughly annoyed. Cameron immediately went over to her and put his arms around her. "Yes, this is my girlfriend, whom I love, cherish, and all that good stuff," Cameron said quickly, making sure that Becky knew he had absolutely zero intentions with the blonde.

"I'm his fiancé," she corrected him.

"Even better," he said, putting on a desperate smile and hugging Becky tighter.

Natalie merely chuckled. "Well I certainly hope you two are very happy together." To his intense relief Cameron saw as she practically pounced on Wesley.

"What the hell was up with that?" Cameron breathed, letting Becky go.

"She just wanted to show her _gratitude_ to someone," she answered with distaste.

"Is that so bad?"

"It's demeaning."

He looked at her curiously. "But didn't the two of us get together in the first place because—?"

She elbowed him in the gut. "Shut up. Besides, she just wants to find a real place to stay—fastest way to do that is to get laid."

"How would you know that?"

"Please, didn't you hear her ask if you had your own place?" Becky scoffed. "Slut." She could throw all the underhanded comments she wanted, but that didn't change the fact that Wesley was reacting positively to Natalie's advances.

Cameron decided it time to change the subject. "You hear? Marge is getting the surgery tomorrow."

Becky's expression shifted from contempt to one of joy, then she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "That's great, Cam." Cameron worked for another hour before the cold finally got to him, and he went home for a few hours sleep.

The next morning Cameron attended the funeral for the seven people that were lost at the hospital. Their friends and loved ones were all there mourning as well, and every once in a while they looked over at Cameron. They weren't dirty looks, really (maybe wondering what he could've done different). Those people had known the dangers and the reasons for going to the hospital—especially the ones that volunteered to be part of Cameron's advance team.

They had gone to that hospital not just for Cameron's baby, but for all the citizens that would one day needs their life saved by complicated surgery. Not only that, but by going back to Madison they had ended up giving over fifty people a chance to escape confinement and find rescue. Those seven people gave their lives to save much more than the one initially in danger.

There was no doubt that they were absurdly lucky that casualties were so few. But that was only because the entire time they had played as smart as possible to minimize losses. It wasn't like in zombie movies where the shit heads went in guns blazing. Yup, seven losses was more than acceptable for such a risky venture, especially considering the incident at Target… Still, seven people were seven people, and those people would've been preferred alive…. And that one life that they initially set out to save was the catalyst for their deaths.

When it came time for Marge to have her surgery, Cameron arrived at the clinic as she was being prepped. Before she was rolled away on the bed, Cameron kissed Marge's fingers lightly before letting them slip out of his hand. _Seven people_, he thought again as he took a seat next to Becky.

They had lost seven people, and the only way that Cameron wouldn't see their sacrifices as a waste would be if the life of his child were saved. It may have sounded selfish but that was how he felt. The future lives saved and those survivors were merely a bonus. If his baby didn't make it then Cameron wouldn't be able to see the whole thing as nothing more than a failure.

Becky let him to rest his head on her shoulder, Jules patted him reassuringly on the knee, and Dennis sat across from them shaking his foot nervously. Cole and Nick were also present for moral support, and they told him that Andrea and the rest of the team wished Marge luck. Even Harry briefly summoned him to his bedside to offer his support as well. It seemed unfair that after all the work that Cameron and all those people put in all he could do now was pray.


	48. Chloe

Cameron was willing to admit that for the past three months he was a pain in the ass to Marge, but for good reason. Ever since she got out of surgery she was ordered to be on bed rest. So he constantly made sure that Marge didn't exert herself one little bit, no matter how much of a nuisance she said he was being. Unfortunately in the process he sort of ended up neglecting Becky, so one night Marge "encouraged" him to go spend some quality time with his fiancé. Despite it not being his idea, though, Cameron still sort of felt like an asshole as he enjoyed lying on the couch with Becky as they watched Pearl Harbor, while the mother of his child was off somewhere else.

At least the movie had some of the mindless romantic drivel that Becky was into, and it had the action and violence Cameron liked…plus Kate Beckinsale. So neither of them could complain it was three hours long.

"Well good night," Aunt Alice yawned. She had made a futile attempt at not leaving them alone, but it was getting late for her.

"Sleep tight," Sarah said, leaving too and grinning mischievously at them.

He and Becky spent the next few minutes watching the movie, when Cameron automatically began running his hand up and down her hip while kissing her neck.

Becky chuckled, moving her head to give him better access. "Is the woman of your dreams turning you on?"

In response to that Cameron reached for the remote and turned off the TV. He then flipped Becky on top of him, saying with a cheesy smile, "Damn right you are." Grinning at him, she dove down and the two of them proceeded to make out right there on the couch.

It didn't take long for the kiss to become more and more passionate as they began ravaging each other. Only then did Cameron realize that it had been a while since the two of them were intimate with one another, so he got even more revved up. He figured that they would have a nice romp on the couch, then hopefully move to bed for some more comfortable lovemaking. His hands went to the hem of her shirt while she began undoing his belt, when there was a knock on the front door.

They ignored it and kept on going. Becky's shirt came off and she was about to reach around to unsnap her bra when the knocking got more incessant. Once again they were prepared to ignore it, but Alice yelled from her bedroom, "Answer the door already!"

"I got it," Cameron sighed, standing and repositioning his pants, trying to do it in a way that hid that fact that he and Becky were in the middle of something.

Upon opening the door, Mrs. Harrison cried, "Marge is going into labor!"

It took maybe a second or two for Cameron's mind to process that before he grabbed his jacket off the coat hanger, and bolted outside. On his way to the clinic he slipped on some sleet and fell on his ass. Some people walking by laughed at Cameron's foolishness, but he simply picked himself up and sprinted onward.

"Where is she?" Cameron demanded as soon as he burst into the clinic.

"Where's who?" Greg asked, taken back by his urgency.

"Marge, of course!"

"She's not here," he replied.

"Fuck!" Cameron shouted, running back out into the cold again. Of course the weight of her belly would hinder her progress!

Making his way to the house, Cameron ran into them half way there. Mr. Harrison and Dennis were holding up Marge on both sides with Jack in tow.

"Where the hell were you?" Dennis asked.

"I ran all the way to the clinic," he explained, taking Mr. Harrison's place.

"Oh, you idiot!" Marge groaned.

"Hey, you told me to go see Becky!" Cameron shot back as they went.

"That's because you were waiting outside the bathroom while I was doing my business."

"I was just making sure you didn't slip and fall or anything," he defended. It didn't cross his mind that maybe arguing was a futile effort.

Marge let out a cry of agony, and Cameron felt as her fingernails dug into the shoulder she was holding on to. A cringe from Dennis told Cameron that he had just experienced the same thing.

Five brutal minutes later they finally made it to the clinic. "_This_ is why I asked where Marge was," Cameron announced as they walked through the front doors.

"Holy shit!" Greg exclaimed. He took over from there. Marge was somehow coaxed into changing and going into the delivery room, as Cameron, Greg, and some assistants all changed into scrubs.

It was one of the most horrible experiences of Cameron's life.

For god knows how long Cameron was by her side holding her hand, trying and failing to put up an aura of reassurance. His hand was being crushed each and every time Marge had a contraction, screaming as if she was being tortured by a medieval device. It took every single ounce of willpower for Cameron not to faint, vomit, or run out of the room screaming like a little girl. For some reason he had it in his mind that having Jack would've prepared her for the current kid, but obviously that time she had been drugged up.

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, CAMERON!" Marge bellowed just as another contraction hit. Cameron's knees almost buckled when she squeezed so hard that he thought she might have broken a few fingers.

"You're doing great, Marge. Just keep at it!" Greg told her, sitting in front of her spread legs.

"Are you sure?" Cameron asked in desperation. For the love of god, Cameron was only nineteen. Less than a year ago if someone had told him that he was going to be a father so soon (or at least in his book it was too soon) he would have laughed. "Maybe we should get Henry in here."

"Henry's a surgeon."

"You're a medic!"

"Hey!" Greg shouted, looking up at him. "I delivered two babies prior to this—that's two more than Henry."

"True but—" He stopped talking and cringed once more.

"GAH!" Marge yelled, crushing Cameron's hand again.

"Keep pushing!"

Marge let out another agonizing scream, so Cameron brought up his other hand to hold onto her tighter. He planted a light kiss on the top of her sweaty red hair. "You're doing great." In actuality, he obviously had no idea how Marge was doing. It just felt like the right thing to say.

Greg kept on telling Marge to continue what she was doing, when all of a sudden she let out an intense cry of relief. What followed was the sound of a baby crying. "It's a girl!"

It felt as if Cameron was paralyzed the moment Greg held up a bawling, bloody, and shriveled up person. He watched as the umbilical cord was cut, as one of the assistants washed the infant, and then as she was wrapped in a blanket. Numbly, he saw the baby being handed to an exhausted but delighted Marge. She began crying happily as she cuddled their daughter.

_Their_ daughter, Cameron realized. And if that was _their_ daughter, then that was _his _daughter. And if that was _his_ daughter then that meant he was a father. _I'm a father?_ Cameron asked himself in wonder.

For nine months he knew that he was going to be a father, but actually experiencing it, actually looking right at the baby was an entirely different feeling. Mystified, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached over the stroke the wisps of red hair on the top of his baby girl's head. She was still crying her brains out, and shortly that sound would become a pain in the ass, but at the moment it was music to his ears.

"She's taking my last name, Cam, so you can name her," Marge said, still smiling down at _their_ daughter.

His mind instantly began to think of every possible name. Hope? Rose? _Nah, way too cliché_, he thought. Maybe after his mother…then again she was alive, and Cameron knew that for some reason she had a thing about naming kids after living relatives. His grandmother, perhaps? _Agnes?_ Hell no. How about something with "J" to match her brother? He shot that down as well—too trendy.

"Chloe," Cameron blurted out, not exactly sure where that came from.

Marge's smile grew wider. "Chloe Prince. I like that."

"Mommy?" Looking towards the door, Cameron saw as Jack was escorted in by one of the assistants.

"Hey, buddy," Cameron said, going over to pick up Jack. He then carried the kid over to the bedside so that he could get a good look at his sibling. "This is your sister Chloe."

"Hi," Jack greeted. "Can I have a brother next?" he asked both Cameron and Marge.

"Not from me, kid," he answered, chuckling.

Marge snorted a bit with laughter, but said, "I don't know, sweetie."

"I'll be back soon," Cameron told Marge, who nodded. He walked outside the doors, and told everyone waiting outside it, "It's a girl. We named her Chloe."

There were cheers and congratulations offered all around. Cameron shook hands with Dennis and Mr. Harrison, and got hugs from Mrs. Harrison, Sarah, and even Aunt Alice. The people that volunteered to go to Madison with Cameron in the first place were also there, happy to know that the primary cause for the excursion turned out well. Harry was there too, almost back to a hundred percent.

"How in the hell are you actually a dad?" Jules asked him with a smile, giving him a tight hug nonetheless.

"Beats me," he said truthfully.

Becky then pulled him in for a kiss. "Congrats," she told him gladly.

"Thanks…. Still sure you wanna wait three years?" Cameron asked her, grabbing her by the waist. On the one hand, he knew it was smart to wait. On the other, why wait?

She curled her lips in thought then nodded. "But in the meantime I've been thinking," Becky said, taking something out of her pocket. It turned out to be two cheap metal rings. "I found them in the church's attic. If you want…"

Without hesitation Cameron took one of the rings and slipped it on her finger. Becky smiled as she did the same thing for him. "I love you," he said to her.

"Love you, too," she said, going in for another kiss.

Marge and the baby were to stay at the clinic overnight, so naturally Cameron was too. Still, he went back to the house to get something that he had picked up the previous week. Once again making a rash decision, Cameron actually risked going to an electronics store so that he could get himself the finest laptop there. So now he was setting it up in Marge's room, thanking the lord that the he was picking up a wireless signal.

Going into a web chat, he found his parents walking around their room getting ready for the day ahead. The two of them had been keeping their own laptop on twenty-four hours a day because they knew that the big day was close at hand. Then their heads snapped to the screen once they saw Cameron was on.

Without saying a word, Cameron went over to the crib, gently picked up his daughter, and sat back down in front of the screen. "This is Chloe," he said to them quietly so as to not wake up Marge.

His father instantly began tearing up and gave Cameron a firm and manly nod of the head. His mother started crying too as she reached out to touch the screen longingly. What had been a fuck up so many months before was now the miracle of life.

Then all of a sudden the screen froze. Curious, Cameron carefully hit the refresh button, but he only got a message that there was no Internet connection. At that point he started to cry too, as he lightly nuzzled the top of his baby's head. Sure, it could've been a faulty connection, but he instinctively knew that that the Internet, which had miraculously lasted for so long and was the only lifeline to his parents, was now gone.

That wasn't all that made it sad, either. The outside world was filled with dangers Chloe would some day face. She wasn't going to grow older watching Dora the Explorer, SpongeBob, or any other mundane cartoon like a normal child once would. Once big enough to pick up a gun, she would learn how to become a bona fide zombie and bandit killer just like dear old dad. And to top it all off, her parents weren't even together.

Still, that didn't mean his daughter wouldn't be surrounded by love. Cameron was going to make sure that Chloe would get all the love she'd ever need.


	49. Epilogue

"You can do it," Cameron said somewhat anxiously.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," he responded, looking down the sight his rifle.

A few tense seconds passed, and finally he pulled the trigger, allowing the round of ammunition to easily travel through the zombie's skull. Gray matter splattered as it came out the other side, and the zombie fell to the ground dead…or at least deader than it already was.

Cameron smiled, and ruffled the kid's red hair. Jack Prince, age fifteen, just recorded his first zombie kill—and in the world they lived in now, killing your first zombie had become just a much a part of growing up as hitting puberty.

They were standing on top of a pick up truck in the middle of the highway a few miles outside La Crosse, Wisconsin. The people of Yuba still made good use of the roads, and in the process killed just about every zombie they ran into. So, in the twelve years since the outbreak, the area immediately around Yuba was almost completely clear. Him and Jack were hard pressed to find a zombie, so they decided to get as close as they dared to the nearest population. It was worth it when they spotted the now dead zombie just ambling around the highway.

"Can't wait to tell mom," Jack said with a smile.

"Uh huh," Cameron said more uncertainly. "She'll certainly be thrilled." In fact she won't. Jack wanted to learn how to shoot, but Marge had been very reluctant to allow him to do so. She heard the stories from him, Dennis, and every other person in the militia, and didn't want her son to go through the same thing.

Cameron had to argue vehemently with her. He just kept on saying that by the time Jack turned eighteen he could learn whether she permitted it or not, so it was better to learn sooner rather than later. Eventually Marge conceded, and Cameron thanked the lord that he didn't end up having to marry her, otherwise he'd be in a world of shit at the moment.

"Well, let's go home," Cameron said, and then he felt something brush against his leg. Looking down he was slightly surprised to see another zombie reaching over the side of the pickup trying to grab at him. Over the years the pieces of shit had deteriorated to almost nothing, were extremely weak and slow, and posed almost no threat. Had it been a new zombie then Cameron would've been dead.

"I'll take care of it," Jack said enthusiastically, pointing his rifle at it.

"No," Cameron told him, lowering the rifle and extracting a knife. "You know full well we have to conserve ammo. That first one was just ceremonial." Jack took the knife. "Be careful not to go near the mouth. The thing can still bite."

Jack waited for the zombie to let out a weak moan, and then he stuck the barrel of the rifle in its mouth. Smirking at Cameron, he raised the knife and plunged it into the zombie's skull. The creature toppled to the ground dead just like its comrade.

"Let's go home."

It had been a quick and efficient day. Jack had been lucky that he was able to get Cameron all to himself for his first zombie hunt. Usually he had to take out a bunch of other kids, along with concerned parents. And then there was the task of actually finding a zombie, followed by deciding which trigger-happy teenager would be the one to kill it. If Cameron knew all of that would've come with being Yuba's official marksmanship instructor then he might never had agreed to the position (_How the hell did I become the best shot in town? _Cameron asked himself for the millionth time).

A while later they were making a right at an intersection. Jack was looking bored sitting in the passenger seat when his eyes drifted over to the mirror. He looked surprised, then turned around in his seat. "Who's that?" he asked, confused.

Looking in the rearview mirror, Cameron furrowed his brow. A white van appeared behind them and was following them. "Good question." He wasn't about to stop and find out, though.

When he noticed that the van was closing in, Cameron stepped on the gas to keep the distance between them. The van simply went faster and continued gaining on them. Not a good sign. "Keep your head down and gun ready," he ordered, putting his hand on top of Jack's head and shoving him down. Jack tried to protest but Cameron's face made him think otherwise.

The van was getting closer and Cameron kept on going faster. He put both hands on the wheel and began concentrating on maneuvering around the abandoned cars and other debris that littered the road. Putting more weight on the gas pedal, Cameron took another look in the mirror to see that the van was not giving up.

When the van got close enough that he was able to see inside, Cameron's skin crawled. There were undoubtedly bandits inside the vehicle, and the bastards were packing heat. The only things that Cameron and Jack had were a pistol and rifle, both with only one magazine. That and the fact that he didn't want Jack to get hurt were why he didn't have him aim out the back window to try and take them out.

Finally the van put on another burst of speed, rear-ending the pickup. Cameron jerked forward but kept in control. Jack bumped his head on the glove compartment but he said he was okay.

Then the van hit them again, only that time it rendered Cameron unable to move around a decaying car. They slammed right into it and after a couple of yards they came to a stop.

"Fuck!" Cameron yelled, putting his hand to his forehead. He felt something warm—blood. "Jack!"

"I'm okay," he groaned, sitting up.

"Stay down!" he shouted, unbuckling their safety belts and forcing him down with him.

"Come quietly and no one has to get hurt!" one of the bandits ordered. He and two other climbed out of the van carrying submachine guns.

Cameron didn't give them the time of day. From an awkward angle, he took his pistol from his belt and aimed it out the driver's side window. He fired four times, and two bullets found their mark. The leader went down, and the other two began firing.

"Stay the fuck down!" Cameron bellowed to Jack, who tried to look up to see what happened. They were both on the floor as the bandits continued spraying the outside of the pickup with bullets. Glass shattered around them as bullet after bullet flew over them.

Thinking fast, he reached over and opened the passenger door and told Jack to get out. They managed to crawl out and stay down, as they took refuge behind the wheels of the pickup.

"What do we do?" Jack asked in fright, his hands over his head.

Seeing that Jack still had his rifle, he said, "When I give the word you stand up and take out the one on the left!"

"What?" he blurted out as he shook.

"Just do it!" The bullets came to a halt and Cameron heard the unmistakable sounds of reloading. _Idiots_. "NOW!" Cameron stood right up, took aim at the bastard on the right, and pulled the trigger. Three bullets entered his chest and he went down. Jack aimed his rifle and put a couple of rounds at his designated target. After the hostile went down, Jack just stood there visibly shaking. "Good job, now stay," Cameron ordered, slowly making his way around the pickup.

He raised his pistol again and stayed ready for any more threats. The van's doors were open so he could see that it was empty. Looking down at the bandits he saw that the two that just went down were dead, while the first one he shot was still alive. He had bullet wounds in his gut and lung—survivable…if Cameron allowed it.

"Nice try, dumb fuck," Cameron said to him, kicking away any guns within his reach. The bandit looked up at him with fear as he wheezed and spit up blood. "Here's the deal: if there are any more of you shit heads around tell me where they are and I'll help you."

He looked up at him pleadingly, then gargled, "More…to north."

Cameron shook his head, knowing how to spot a desperate liar. "Not buying it." He drew out his knife and stabbed down, penetrating the sternum to get to the heart. "I can tell from just looking that you're just like every other hostile I've killed over the years," Cameron said to him, driving the knife further in. "I doubt you've lost any sleep because of the people you've hurt, so I won't either because of you." A bullet to the head might've been faster and painless, but it would've been a waste of a bullet. Besides, the Kyle Doctrine was still very much in effect.

After the last breath left the bandit, Cameron extracted the knife and wiped the blood off on the ragged clothing. He might have just let the bastard die from his wounds, but Cameron didn't want to risk a zombie taking a bite out of him before that happened. It was quite a while since the last time someone encountered a ripe zombie and he wanted to keep it that way.

"Shit!" Jack exclaimed, leaving his cover. He had stopped shaking and now looked elated. "We sure got the bastards, didn't we?"

"Come here," Cameron said, gesturing for him to come forward. Once close enough he began to inspect ever inch of Jack, especially the head. He was a little banged up from the crash, but thankfully no concussion. "Let's go home."

"What about them?" he asked, indicating the dead bodies.

"Nothing," he said, now looking through their pockets. "Just leave them." Cameron then found what he was looking for: keys to the van. The pickup was totaled from the crash and bullet damage.

Then he noticed Jack was digging through the pockets of the bandit he had killed. "I already found them. Let's get all our stuff in the van and get going."

"Yeah, yeah, hold on a sec," he said, as he found a pocketknife.

"What're you doing?" Cameron demanded.

"Souvenir for my first kill," he answered, examining the knife. Cameron immediately went up to Jack and smacked him upside the head. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"Souvenir? Jack, killing people isn't something that we enjoy or brag about!" he yelled angrily.

"They're just bandits!" Jack defended, surprised by his reaction.

"Yes, they're bits of inhuman filth that deserve to die—but this isn't something we do for sport!" Only once did Cameron ever draw some sort of satisfaction from killing, but that was only because that fuck had hurt Becky. "I know your mom didn't raise a sociopath. Put it back."

"Fine," Jack said crossly, tossing the knife away.

A few minutes later the rations that they had in the pickup, along with the guns the bandits had been carrying were put in the van. After that they were headed back home again

"You're not gonna tell mom about that little thing back there, are you?" Jack asked nervously as they neared the northern perimeter.

"I don't have a reason to," Cameron answered. "At least not now."

The van came to a stop when Cameron approached the traffic barrier. "What happened?" Celia asked him, looking inside curiously and taking in their cuts and bruises. "This isn't the car you left in."

"Some bandits tried to fuck with us," he explained. "The pickup got totaled."

"Where?"

"About two miles east of Viola."

"Okay, I'll let Tony know about the car," she said, making a note on her clipboard. "Welcome home." The barrier went up and Cameron drove on. They drove through the northern end of town, where the majority of the dwellings were. There were some more past the river to the south and west but it was mostly farmland. To the east was there they kept all the animals (Cameron still remembered his first juicy steak, and although he had wished for some A1 Steak Sauce, it was still delicious).

The first stop after parking was the armory. Cameron and Jack took the guns and ammunition the bandits had with them and put them away along with Jack's rifle (he was not very happy about that). After locking it up they walked over to Marge's house, where she was already anxiously waiting outside.

"Finally!" she said, running up and hugging Jack. "Oh my god, what happened out there?" Marge looked Jack up and down when she noticed he was hurt.

"We were ambushed by some bandits," Cameron explained to her calmly. "They were taken care of, don't worry."

Marge looked at him apprehensively. "You mean _you_ took care of them, or you both did?"

Cameron sighed heavily. "We both did," he said honestly.

"Oh my poor baby," Marge cried, getting on her tiptoes to kiss Jack's forehead. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, mom," he assured her gruffly. "I won't have any nightmares, I promise."

"Let's get you cleaned up," she said, barely hearing what he said.

As Marge led Jack inside the house, another shorter redhead exited and took in his appearance, and then Cameron's. "Wow, dad, what happened to you guys?"

"Nothing big," Cameron said, giving her a hug. "Just ran into some bad people."

"You kill them?"

"Yeah, sweetheart…I did," he told her reluctantly. "Jack helped too."

That last statement took Chloe by surprise. "Wow, and here I thought he was a pussy."

That cheered Cameron up immensely and he couldn't help but laugh—eleven-year-old girls could be such bitches. "Your mom should be busy fussing over him right now. How about you come over for dinner?"

"Sounds good."

Together Cameron and his daughter made their way to his house.

"So how was school today?" he asked.

Chloe shrugged. "Jules—"

"Ms. Carter," Cameron corrected her.

"_Ms. Carter_…gave me a D on my report," she mumbled.

Cameron wasn't one to talk, so he just reached over and shook her by the shoulder. "You do know we do this so that all of you won't end up a bunch of dumbasses, right?"

"I know," she sighed. "I'll try harder next time."

They reached the porch and opened the door, where his seven-year-old was the first to greet him. "Hi dad—what happened?" Angie asked, gasping as soon as they walked in.

"Bad guys," Chloe answered for him offhandedly.

"You're hurt?" Becky asked, coming from another room and inspecting Cameron. She grabbed his head and turned it so she could get a better look at his cut. "I thought it was just a zombie hunt!"

"It was," Cameron explained.

"Well, did Jack get hurt?"

"No more than me. He's fine."

Becky sighed. "Okay. Clean yourself up, dinner's almost ready."

That caused Cameron's jaw to drop slightly. "You're cooking? I thought it was my turn." It wasn't that Cameron liked to cook, but that Becky didn't know how (something that no one dared say out loud).

"Well while you were out putting yourself in danger, our kids were getting hungry," she explained in a slightly superior tone.

_As if it was my fault Jack dragged me out today_, he didn't say.

As Becky went into the kitchen to check on the stove, Cameron came up from behind to hug her and kiss her neck. She tended to become a bit mellower when he did that. "Why don't you relax and I'll take over from here."

She turned around to peck him on the lips. "That's fine. Clean that wound and watch Dave while I finish here."

Reluctantly he agreed.

"Becky's really gonna cook?" Chloe asked in an undertone. She was only around for one of Becky's meals once in a blue moon.

"Sorry."

After Cameron cleaned himself up, he went into the living room. Chloe was looking rather glum as she minded Angie by halfheartedly playing dolls with her. The three-year-old Dave came running up and waved a battered book in front of his nose for him to read. He had Dave sit next to him and began reading out loud. Zombie killing, a shoot out with bandits, and all followed by some Cat in the Hat—just another day, Cameron reflected.


	50. comments

Yes, my friends, that is that.

And call me conceited, but that fact of the matter is that I spent over three months working on this thing. So I feel that there are a few things that I have to say. I hope this doesn't ruin it for anybody.

Grammar: my grammar suuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks. I've told this to two or three of you, but there it is. It was one of my worst subjects in school. Now I don't mean simple crap like "your" and "you're"—those kinds of mistakes are ones I missed pure and simple, and ones I have tried to go back and fix. But whenever someone tries to explain to me what the fuck a prepositional phrase is I just wanna punch them. Hell, there might be grammar mistakes in this paragraph and I wouldn't know it. I think I'm a pretty decent storyteller, but only a mediocre author at best.

The bandits and religious crazies: if any of you were wondering why you felt that it was The End after the fight with the bandits, that's because it originally was supposed to be that way. Immediately after that I wrote out a chapter with Marge giving birth. But then the idea of an ultra religious community came to mind. Despite myself I kept on thinking about what would happen. Eventually I typed it all down. And before I knew it I extended my story quite a bit.

Everything after that was pretty much written on the fly, as I thought of a good way to end the story. And it's because of that that I leave myself wishing that I had done a better job writing these last chapters.

Jules: ah, yes, Jules. The Facebook chat was originally supposed to be her only appearance. Afterwards, though, I considered having her turn up as one of the people that the bandits took as slaves. I scrapped that idea because it over complicated things and I didn't feel like making room for it. Then as I wrote out the religious town chapters, it came to mind that the people that didn't like it there needed a face. Enter Jules. I decided to officially bring her back from the dead.

World War Z: yes, I have referenced it a few times, especially with that "Quisling". If a zombie apocalypse happened in real life why wouldn't people refer to that book just as much as Romero? When I read that it made shit seem so real, that a person going mad enough to think he or she was a zombie made sense to me. In fact, it's _because_ of that book that I spent a short period of time obsessing over zombies, and started coming up with this story.

The _only_ problem I have with it is that in that book the zombies are slow, which I know is the traditional way they move. So, obviously, I didn't follow those rules. It might have made sense in the Zombie Survival Guide when it explained why they are that way, but I cannot believe that a bunch of slow, stumbling zombies can take over the world (please don't kill me!). They'd be easily put down as soon as people figured out how dangerous they are. A running zombie, on the other hand, has more potential for destruction.

All the same World War Z by Max Brooks is a damn fine read and I highly recommend it (although I can't imagine that anyone on a zombie fanfic page hasn't read it already).

Well, that's pretty much all I wanted to say for now.

Until next time (if there is one), Bucking Reg


	51. extra: Day at the Lake

"I'd have to be braid dead not to know what all of you think of me…. But guess what: I don't give one flying fuck!" Cameron snarled at them. "You guys may hate that I'm in charge, but I hate _being_ in charge. I _hate _being responsible for the lives of others, because if any of you die it's on me. I shouldn't have to deal with this shit!"

A few months ago during the first anniversary of Yuba's establishment as a survivor's colony eight people were officially made lieutenants—Cameron, much to his annoyance, was one of those eight. Because of that the men and women currently under his command just glared at him defiantly. Half of them were members of the militia that were there since day one and didn't believe that Cameron should have such authority.

The other half of his unit was made up of newcomers to Yuba that joined the militia and just couldn't comprehend that a kid like Cameron could wield power. They thought that they faced far worse in the first year of the outbreak and didn't have to listen to someone so young and (in their opinion) inexperienced. But to have order and cohesion within a military there had to be a clearly defined chain of command that everyone had to adhere to.

Goddamn it, why couldn't of that operation near Milwaukee earlier that week produce results? Then the brass wouldn't have decided to try again while at the same time take the opportunity to prove a point by sending Cameron out with these people.

"But just because I don't like it doesn't mean jack shit," he went on harshly. "I was still put in command of this truck, so all of you _will_ follow my orders while we're out here. If you want to contradict me then by all means do it—but only if you have a damn good reason. Otherwise you'll find your name at the bottom of the list for proper housing. _Is that clear!_"

That last threat hit home, especially with the old hands who still lived in public lodging. Houses were not something that sprang up over night, and Cameron certainly could say who should be moved up or down if need be. But in all honesty he didn't want to end up having to do that. Because when the day came that he and Becky applied for housing, it would be a bloody scene if someone threatened their spot on the list.

"Good," he said in a more docile tone. "Now start clearing out the zombies." Everybody then aimed their rifles down at the zombie horde that had been reaching up at them and banging on the truck the entire time Cameron was talking.

"What the fuck was that?" asked Tony, who at the moment was his only ally there.

"I'm in no mood to take shit from anybody," Cameron answered.

"Yeah, but did you have to be such a ball buster?"

Cameron snorted. "You think Marge's gonna have any mercy on me? It was supposed to be my day with Chloe!" He took his rifle, aimed down, and popped the first zombie he got in his sights.

With that one of the objectives for this excursion was pretty much accomplished: to solidify Cameron's role as a lieutenant with those who opposed to it. Word would spread among the rest of them that if they didn't like Cameron leading then they simply had to ask not to be put under his command.

The second objective was happening on another truck on the other side of the lakeside complex. Paula, another one of the lieutenants, was babysitting a bunch of teenagers that did little to no fighting outside of Yuba's walls. The current mission was low risk compared to others, so the higher ups decided to send them out for the zombie shooting experience. In a way Cameron probably got the better unit, preferring to deal with stubborn jackasses rather than moronic teenagers (_Wow, when did I get old?_ Cameron asked himself with sigh).

Unfortunately for the two trucks the zombie extermination took longer than expected. Even though they knew that Manitowoc was only a couple of miles to their north, they had miscalculated the zombie population around the city. It seemed as if a lot more people than they thought had fled south after the outbreak, therefore the amount of infected was a lot larger.

It wasn't until right before sundown that the last zombie in sight fell to the ground with a bullet through its brain. There were many piles of dead bodies around, any of which could contain a trapped zombie. Even more unnerving was the two structures in the complex that still contained more of the things. He was about to go to the truck's radio to ask Paula what they should do, when Cameron noticed a figure climbing down the side of the other truck.

"Fuck," he breathed, wanting to be more cautious. Taking the rope ladder from the hatch, he put it over the side of the truck and climbed down. As he went to meet Paula, Cameron told his people to relax but be wary.

"Not exactly the time we planned on finishing, eh?" Paula commented, sighing.

"Tell me about it…. So how did Sarah do?" Cameron asked to lighten the mood.

"Other than a case of the shakes she did just fine," she confirmed. "You taught her pretty well."

"Had to," Cameron told him, shaking his head and grinning. "Otherwise Becky would have my ass."

Paula started to snicker. "She _already_ owns your ass, Cam—hell, she and Marge have joint custody of it."

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically.

"But seriously, you should consider teaching more."

_Maybe when hell freezes over_. "So what do you think we should do now?" he asked, getting back to business.

"Beats me. Either proceed with the next phase now, wait here 'til tomorrow, or go home."

"Home's over two hours away, though," Cameron said in thought. It would've been a waste of gas to send the trucks home only to come back. "No sense in both trucks spending the night here. We could send one home."

"Which one?"

"How about the one full of kids with parents bitching at them to get home?" he suggested.

"You're only a year older than most of them there, y'know," she reminded him with a smirk.

Cameron rolled his eyes. "Ugh, don't remind me."

"Alrighty, I'll give Cole a call to bring the boat around before I head out."

"Whoa, hold on! Why're you leaving? Your driver doesn't need you for that."

"Uh…why would I stay?"

"Because you'll be the one going on the boat ride," he answered.

"Uh huh, bullshit—you are, Cam."

"I thought you were!"

"Hell no!"

Cameron wiped his mouth in frustration. "This is something that should have been decided beforehand."

Paula then reached into her pocket to pull out a Quarter. "Call it," she said, flipping it into the air.

"Heads."

Catching it and turning it over to the back of her hand, she announced, "Tails."

"Fuck…why do you even have that?"

"For situations like these," she told him with a smile. "I'll tell Becky you said hi. Good luck tomorrow."

It was with envy that Cameron and his unit watched as the other truck pulled away and drove out of the complex. A little while later a pickup truck with a motorboat on a trailer pulled up the immense driveway. Cole had spent the entire day in a safe place away from any zombies until the area was cleared, but that didn't stop other zombies from catching sight of the vehicle and giving chase.

Cole parked the pickup next to the truck, got out, and quickly climbed up the rope ladder provided for him before the zombies got close. After the things were killed the unit spent the rest of the night in the truck either sleeping, eating, or on the look out for any other zombies.

"So how did things go with these guys?" Cole asked when it was just he, Cameron, and Tony on top of the truck.

"Not so bad. It took some incentive but they listened," Cameron answered.

"He threatened their spot on the housing list," Tony elaborated.

Cole winced. "Yeah, that'll do it." Then he said more sincerely, "Hopefully they'll stop being so pissy as time goes on…. And if not fuck 'em. Not everyone has to like you."

Cameron just shot him a grin. "Damn, and here I was hoping for universal popularity."

The next morning only two zombies stumbled upon them, and they were quickly dispatched. Cole then got back in the pickup to back up the boat's trailer into the waters of Lake Michigan. And so they began the next phase, which was the third and main reason behind the operation: find a ship.

Of all his dissenters, Maureen Reed was the one Cameron felt the most sorry for. When the mission was being planned out it was clear they needed a motorboat, so they asked around and Maureen, much to her regret, stepped forward. A trip to her old house had been made to retrieve it—luckily it was kept in a shed under a tarp that helped shield it from the elements, so no major work needed to be done on it. So not only was she with them now, she also participated in the wasted trip to Milwaukee's coast.

Maureen, Cameron, and Cole loaded up into the boat with some supplies for the day. The rest of the people in the truck were told to stay put and that they should be back in a few hours. If not then further instructions would be given via the extra CB radio that was brought with them.

Soon enough they ventured out into the open waters taking a northern route towards Manitowoc. Cameron just leaned back in his seat and let the wind whip through his hair with his rifle in his lap. It would be a while until they got close enough to see the city's shore so he just closed his eyes and pretended it was nothing more than a relaxing boat ride…. Man, what he wouldn't have given to have Becky wrapped around his arms at that moment.

"Holy shit!" Cole exclaimed, causing Cameron to jerk up in attention.

"Mornin' sunshine," Maureen said lazily.

"I dozed off? How long?"

She shrugged. "Fifteen/twenty minutes."

"So what happened?" In response she waved off to her left. "Holy shit!"

The city's coastline was teeming with countless zombies, most likely former people trying to make an escape via water only to get trapped. A shiver traveled up Cameron's spine, making him to look over the side of the boat wondering how many more, if any, were lurking down there. The zombie that he couldn't see was infinitely more frightening than the one could. Madison was one thing, but the good portion of Manitowoc's population had to out there on the shore.

"Shouldn't be surprising," Cole said anxiously. "This is pretty much what Doyle described to us after he got back from Milwaukee."

"Let's just get this over with," Cameron said unevenly.

For the next hour or so they went up and down shore looking for a vessel that was big enough to suit their needs. Unfortunately the best they were able to find were half sunken boats that were probably too small anyway. And even if they weren't it would've been next to impossible to get them in working order. They decided to venture to a marina, but the boats there wouldn't do either—not to mention they had no keys, and the zombies present were going nuts because of the out of reach meals.

Cole offered to get on one of the boats to attempt to hotwire it, but Cameron decided against it. None of them knew for sure whether or not that'd work, and if he tried then Cameron and Maureen would have to keep the zombies at bay. Not worth the risk. Cameron put the safety of his people above everything else.

Maureen turned the boat around and they got away from the shoreline. They decided to sail a bit farther north to try their luck, but decided to turn back when it became clear they wouldn't find anything. "Good thing, too," Maureen said, looking at the fuel gauge. "We're over half empty."

Cameron sighed in disappointment at the wasted trip. "Fine, let's get back to base."

"How about we go back in an arc to cover more ground—uh—water," Cole said, pointing southeast towards open water.

"We don't have enough gas to do that," Maureen told him.

"So we'll paddle."

"With what?"

"Look, we already know there's nothing back the way we came," he said reasonably.

She just rolled her eyes. "You're call, Cameron."

Thinking about it for a second, he decided it was worth the gamble. "Take the detour."

"God dammit," she breathed in frustration, navigating towards the open water.

He heard her mumble something nastily under her breath, which Cameron decided to ignore…. But Cole took a different approach. "What was that?" he asked her pointedly.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Forget it," Cameron said.

"No we wanna know," Cole pressed.

_We?_

"I said it was nothing."

"Just come out with it!"

"Fine! I said that I knew Cameron was going to make a stupid decision eventually," she said with scoff. "It was idiotic to make a someone so young a lieutenant."

"Well deal with it," Cameron said before Cole could say anything. "Now both of you keep your mouths shut unless you spot something."

Maureen groaned. "Okay, okay, _I'm sorry_. It's just really hard to take you seriously when you're younger than my son…who just happens to have a crush on your fiancé!"

Cameron grimaced slightly but didn't say anything. He didn't like Phil, and the feeling was mutual. He was one of the bastards that hit on Becky during her and Cameron's time apart. That was why Cameron didn't exactly miss him when Phil stayed abroad on Wesley's team. Absentmindedly twisting the ring on his finger, Cameron thought menacingly, _That asshole better give it up soon or he'll find himself in a ditch_.

"You think your son should've been promoted instead?" Cole asked.

"No, he has no experience leading."

"Cameron does!" He certainly changed his tune since Monroe.

"I told you two to shut up!" Cameron snapped.

From that point they rode in silence. It was nothing but open water in front of them, and it seemed like a waste of time. Well if they had to paddle the rest of the way back, so be it. No use complaining about it.

But suddenly Maureen slowed the boat down. When asked if they were already out of gas, she shook her head and said, "Maybe this wasn't such a waste after all." She accelerated once more away from land to a far off shape in the water. As they got closer a smile began appearing on all their faces.

"Well I'll be a sonuvabitch," Cole said, leaning over the boat.

"Let's hope she's seaworthy," Maureen said.

"Hey, it floats—that's all I care about right now!" For right in front of them was a luxury yacht that had to be over a hundred feet long! The paint was peeling off and there was rust in many places but it was still the kind of boat that would be useful to them.

"Fuck yeah!" Cameron exclaimed, even though some zombies on the ship noticed their presence and were reaching for them over the railing. Without it needing to be said, rifles were brought up and they took out the zombies before them.

After the ones within sight were taken out they maneuvered around the yacht in search of more. The few that appeared were killed easily, and once they were sure that all on top were gone they went to the yacht's rear, where there was a dock for smaller boats.

Cole carefully stepped out of the boat onto the yacht. "What rich asshole owned this?" he asked with a big grin on his face.

"Likely one of the dead-heads here," Maureen said after the motorboat was securely tied to the dock using a provided tether.

Once all three of them were on the dock with their rifles at the ready, Cameron said, "No different from any other supply run. I'll take point, you two watch my back—we open no doors until we know for a fact the deck's clear…. Move."

It didn't take that long for them to make sure the deck no longer had live zombies. Cameron told them to throw the carcasses overboard, but Maureen immediately shot that down. She pointed out that the anchor was down, which meant that the yacht was likely brought to a stop and had its engine cut on purpose. So the keys were probably in the pocket of one of the dead.

The three of them went to one of the doors and Cameron pounded it with his fist…nothing. Still, Cameron positioned Cole and Maureen in front of the door with their rifles up, while he opened it…nothing again. Other than a few bloodstains the hallway below was clear. Before venturing down they all grabbed the flashlights they brought with them.

Whoever had owned the yacht really was one rich bastard. There were bedrooms, fully equipped bathrooms, game rooms, and a kitchen (full of rotten food). Other than the occasional zombie waiting in the dark, it seemed the most of the infected on the boat had been on the deck. But it still took nearly an hour to make sure that all the levels including the engine room were cleared.

So now came the daunting task of checking the pockets of every single corpse. At first Cole thought the struck gold after finding a set of keys in the first zombie he looked through, but at that same moment Cameron also found a set on another body. For all they knew each adult body could have keys.

In another room Cole let out a long whistle. "Wow, not bad at all," he announced, lifting a corpse's left hand and removing its watch. "Always wanted a Rolex—and it still works, too…. What?" he asked in response to Cameron and Maureen's glares. "Hey, not like he needs it." Cole strapped the watch to his wrist without shame.

Cameron was put to the test a little while later as they inspected a female body. "Think Becky would like this?" he asked Maureen, holding up a diamond necklace.

"Sure…until you tell her where you got it from." Cameron tossed the necklace away as if it were on fire.

Once all the bodies on the yacht were checked they had five sets of keys in total. They would have gone to the yacht's bridge to test if any of them worked, but it would have been a fruitless effort. None of the lights in any of the rooms worked, so the battery was probably dead. It was now up to the mechanics in town to see what it'd take to get the yacht working (odds might be that it was unsalvageable, but they had to try).

The group called it a day, returned to the motorboat, filled it up with some gas found on the ship, and headed back to shore. The anchor was down on the yacht so there was no danger of it drifting somewhere else. Back on land the boat was tied to a stump, and everyone loaded up back into the truck to head back home. Pretty anticlimactic end, but what else could they do?

Hours later back at Yuba Cameron met with Isturez and gave him a blow by blow of what happened after Paula left. Just as Cameron predicted, Isturez started contemplating sending over some mechanics with Turnbull in charge—unfortunately for Maureen she was conscripted into going since she knew the way.

When the meeting was done and pleasantries were exchanged, he let himself out. "Hey, it's daddy!" Cameron heard behind him. Smiling, he turned around to see Becky approach with Chloe in her arms.

"Hi, sweetheart, miss me?" he said to Chloe as she was handed to him, and then kissing Becky.

"How was your day?" she asked, as if he just got back from the office.

"Same old, same old," he replied. "Where's Marge?" She didn't usually leave the baby with someone else.

"I offered her a break."

"Why didn't Dennis?" Cameron asked curiously.

"Perimeter patrol…. Why?" she asked with a sudden glare. "You don't think I can take care of your daughter?"

"What? NO! I—I just—"

Then her face broke into a cheeky grin. "I'm kidding!"

"Jeez," he breathed with relief.

"So, find yourself a boat?" Becky said as they started walking.

"Yep. Another team is going back tomorrow."

Becky exhaled in some annoyance because it'd be her turn to go along as one of the shooters. "Wesley better come back telling us those people held up their end of the bargain."

"If not then we just wasted gas and bullets."

_A/N: PLEASE read my profile bio_


	52. extra 2: The Hunt

_Well today's definitely off to a wonderful start_, Cameron thought, actually very irritated by it so far. He really didn't like just hanging around that deserted road just waiting for trouble to find them, but they didn't have much of a choice. But Anderson just _had_ to get sick that morning, forcing him to back down from the mission, so the other team had to stay behind to find somebody else.

"I hate waiting," Phil breathed, leaning against the car.

"Tell me about it," Cameron agreed.

Phil just rolled his eyes at Cameron and turned away. _Douche_. That was another thing: Phil was on his team. Normally Cameron would show just as much disdain for him, but seeing as they had to watch each other's backs now he had to make some effort to build bridges. He wasn't trying very hard, though.

"C'mon!" Andrea started to yell jubilantly. "C'mon, you decrepit sonuvabitch, I'm right here. You almost got me!"

"I don't think so!" Cole said loudly, clapping his hand as he walked backwards. "Mine's got yours beat!"

"Bullshit!" she said, looking back down at her zombie. "Move it!"

"I dunno, this one looks pretty fucking hungry!"

"Not as hungry as mine!"

The both of them kept on screaming and hollering at the two legless zombies crawling with all their might towards them. The things moaned (almost as if in irritation) as they inched closer to their potential meals. Andrea was even reckless enough to stick her hand out dangerously close to her zombie, and pulled back just as it raised a hand to take a swipe. Cole's zombie was right on the other's dangling entrails.

Cole and Andrea kept on hooting at their respective zombies, backing up more and more. Until finally Andrea's zombie jutted its hand forward, causing it to cross the designated finish line. Andrea jumped up and down in victory as Cole just shook his head in disappointment, driving the heel of his boot through his zombie's skull. After she stopped celebrating, Andrea did the same.

"Luck," was all Cole had to say.

"Yeah right, I just know how to pick 'em," she said with satisfaction. "You know the deal."

"I know, I'll take your shifts for the next week," he conceded.

"You probably just attracted every last zombie and hostile to this area, y'know," Phil admonished.

"Hey, we're here looking for a fight either way," replied Andrea. "I say bring it."

"Aren't you gonna do anything about it, _team leader_," Phil said sarcastically to Cameron.

"There's no way those bandits are camped near enough to the road that they heard us," Cameron explained indifferently.

"Some lieutenant," he muttered under his breath.

Hearing that, Cameron just smiled, and said, "It's a pleasure working with you too, Phil."

For some reason that really irked Phil, causing to spread his arms out in dramatic fashion, and say, "You got something to say to me, Marsh, just say it!"

Cameron gave him a look. "Uh…oh I know! Stop hitting on my fiancé."

"Christ, out here in enemy territory and that's all you can think about," Phil sighed. "I can't believe I have to follow your orders."

"Oh god, Phil, please—_please_ refuse to follow my orders out here," Cameron begged in mock fashion. "Because I if you run around like a headless chicken and get killed by bandits, then I won't have to get in trouble for killing you myself."

"Asshole."

"We wouldn't have such animosity if you'd simply stop hit—"

"Fine, I get it!"

"So you'll stop—?" Phil scoffed loudly and turned away, which obviously mean no. And so unit cohesion degrades even further…

"Cam," Andrea spoke up, pointing down the road. "They finally joined the party."

Thank god. It took them long enough to find a replacement. It was back to business, all their weapons went from being slung around their backs to the low ready. After the other car parked behind the first, Wesley, the squad leader, got out of the driver's seat, and Paula, the other team leader, got out the passenger.

The two back doors opened as well, and Cameron just started to wonder who they got as a replacement, when Sarah stepped out of the car! "What the _fuck_, Wes!" Cameron hollered at him, immediately getting into his face.

"What?" Wesley asked, confused.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Cameron asked, jabbing his finger in Sarah's direction.

"I told you," Paula mumbled out of the corner of her mouth, averting her eyes.

"What do you mean why am I here?" Sarah asked, taken back by his hostility. "I'm part of the militia, aren't I?"

"No, you're only seventeen, the most you're supposed to do is zombie killing," he told her before going back to Wesley. "Why did you get her of all people?"

"Because she was on the on call list," Wesley said as if it were obvious.

"Send—her—_back!_" Cameron demanded.

"Can we please not do this," he asked tiredly.

"She's too inexperienced for this, Wes."

"Look," Wesley said firmly, "I know she's your girl's sister, but—"

"Damn straight! Becky would fucking murder me if anything happened to her!"

"Hey!" Sarah interjected angrily. "I think I'm old enough that I don't need you or my sister to hold my hand!"

"You aren't experienced enough yet!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong," she said, giving him a look, "but haven't I been using an rifle longer than you when you went and killed your first bandit?"

His response died away, knowing that what she said was true. "I was eighteen."

"Ooh, a year older, big whoop."

Cameron grit his teeth and hissed, "Go home."

"No," she answered simply, turning her back on him.

"Get over it," Wesley said aggressively. "Marsh, we aren't going to waste time by going all the way back to find somebody else. We have a mission to complete."

"I don't care!"

"Marsh," Wesley said angrily, stepping up closer so that he was face to face with Cameron, "We have a _mission_. If you refuse to move with us, I'll strip you of your rank and restrain you for obstruction! Now ask yourself: would you rather be out there where Sarah will be anyway, or handcuffed in the back of the car?"

The two of them stared each other down for the longest time. "I want Sarah on my team. I'll trade for Phil."

"No."

"_Why the hell not?_" Cameron raged.

"You're the flanking team," he explained. "Are seriously telling me that you've trained her for that?"

"No but—"

"Plus you'll be too protective of her—which will be counterproductive!" Wesley cut in. "End of discussion. Everyone gather around!"

It was with extreme contempt that Cameron and everybody else huddled around the hood of one of the cars as they poured over a map. Right in front of them was the entrance to a dirt road that they were going to follow, which would hopefully lead them to the group of bandits that performed a hit and run a few days ago. It wasn't simply for revenge, but to stamp out any possible hostile settlements at its infancy anywhere near Yuba's territory.

On the map Wesley pointed out different spots on the road, how they would maneuver at those spots if contact were made, and all evacuation routes and rally points. But Cameron was barely paying any attention. As team leader he knew all that stuff beforehand and had to commit it to memory.

Once the meeting was done, body armor was taken out of the trunks of the cars. As Cameron was strapping his on, Paula walked over. "Look, Cam, when the shit hits the fan I'll make sure she's okay," she said reassuringly.

"Thanks," he said. "Did you make sure her body armor fits properly?"

"Yup, all taken care of." Seeing how concerned he still looked, she allowed herself a grin and said, "Y'know, I've never seen someone so concerned over an in-law."

"Just stick with her," Cameron replied. "Otherwise you'll be in Becky's sights right along next to me…. Andrea, Cole, Phil, on me!"

The squad all stood at the start of the dirt road, where they all screwed on silencers to their rifles. Once ready, Paula took point and started walking forward down the center of the road. When Paula was a few meters ahead, Sarah and Marshall went so that they were on either side of her. The last person on the team waited until those two were far enough ahead, and then started walking on the left side of the road. A few seconds later, Wesley also started walking.

That was the cue for Cameron and his team. Cameron started walking with his rifle at the low ready, and the rest of the team fell in behind him in the same manner as Paula's, except that Cole was off to Cameron's far right.

_Just focus_, Cameron told himself as they started the patrol. Paula worked with Sarah before, they know each other, and Paula knows how to handle things. Everything will be fine.

But all wasn't fine. They were intentionally putting themselves in harms way. For god's sake, the purpose of their formation was to spread them out and minimize possible casualties if a grenade or machinegun fire got them. Normally he didn't think about that because he was used to this kind of thing, but at the moment he had his rookie future sister-in-law in harm's way.

The farther they walked, the more Cameron hoped that they didn't make any contact. They'd just try another day when Sarah wasn't part of the squad. Luckily it was starting to seem that way. The only contact they were having were zombies that occasionally stumbled out of the wood line.

"What was that?" Andrea called out. The squad came to a halt as Andrea aimed her rifle at the trees.

"What's up?" asked Cameron.

"I just saw some movement," she informed him, not lowering the rifle. Wesley gave the sign and they all got on their knees with their rifles at the ready, everyone facing their respective field of fire. Taking the opportunity, Cameron looked over at Sarah, who looked to be out of breath but her face was determined.

After a few minutes, Wesley asked, "Anyone see anything?" They all shook their heads, so he had had them all stand back up again. "Move out, and keep your eyes peeled."

None of them needed to be told twice. An outsider might have commented that Andrea was probably seeing things, but nobody spoke or even thought that. Catching the slightest movement out of the corner of your eye probably saved more lives than anything else. If you're anywhere but home you should always assume that there is danger right around the corner.

They walked for about another mile or so, when from somewhere within the woods the sound of gunfire erupted. As if in slow motion, Cameron saw the dirt get kicked up, making a trail that crossed Paula's path. One of the rounds went right into her chest, and before she even fell to the ground, Cameron found himself yelling, "CONTACT—THREE O'CLOCK!"

His feet then automatically hustled to the nearest tree, where he took cover. The rest of the squad did the same, although Cameron noticed Sarah briefly hesitate, and got behind a tree only when she saw everyone else was doing it. _Son of a bitch_, he thought woefully.

But he couldn't focus on that right now. Somewhere beyond them in those woods was an enemy that had to be put down. "Marshall! Julio!" Wesley was shouting as fire continued to rain in on them. "On my signal go get Paula!"

"Roger!"

"You got it!"

"Suppressors off!" All were taken off. "Covering fire!" Wesley shouted at the top of his lungs. Everyone aimed their rifles around their tree, aimed to where the sound of gunfire was coming from, and opened fire. The point was to make a lot of noise so the enemy _knew _they were being fired at, rather an actually trying to hit them. The enemy fire ceased, and Marshall and Julio immediately ran over to Paula, who was lying on the ground wheezing and clutching her chest. They each grabbed an arm and pulled towards safety.

Julio ripped open her shirt. "She's hurt but the plates saved her," he informed Wesley.

"Marsh," Wesley said. "I gotta take charge here, but you know what you gotta do!" Nodding, Cameron and his team stood up as Wesley yelled again, "Covering fire!"

Cameron's team filed in behind him, and once they were clear they hustled down the dirt road back the way they came. _Shit! _Just when it looked like they weren't going to get any action. Not only that, but the sun was starting to go down and it would soon be dark.

Bang! Phil lowered his rifle after taking out a zombie. And all the noise they were making was going to attract a shit ton of zombies. Zombies and night were never a good combination.

Half a mile later, Cameron figured that they had gone far enough and plunged into the trees so that they could try and flank the enemy. But they didn't get very far before he heard a voice shout, "CAM!"

_You've gotta be fucking kidding me_, he thought dreadfully. Telling his team to stay put, Cameron ran back onto the road where he saw Sarah run up to him. As she caught her breath, Cameron yelled, "What the hell!"

"I thought you wanted me on your team," she quickly said.

"_Not now!_ Wes already had to take Paula's place, and now that you're here they're a man down!" he told her angrily.

"Oh I'm sorry!" Sarah blurted out busting into tears. "I thought I could handle it—but—but then I saw—and—and…oh god."

"Why did you even come here?"

"I panicked okay," she explained, still crying. "I—I just didn't…" Sarah hung her head in shame and sniffed. "I figured it'd be safer with you."

"We're the flanking team—do you have any idea what that even means?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Then why did—"

"I'm sorry, I'm not Becky, okay!" Sarah squealed.

That comment flabbergasted Cameron. "Who the hell said you were?"

"Everyone just expects me to live up to what she's done," Sarah told him anxiously.

Cameron groaned while running his hand down his face in frustration. "We'll talk about whatever inferiority complex you have later!" he snarled, roughly grabbing her shoulder and dragging her with him. "We've got a job to do. Stay close!"

Back with the rest of the team, Cole started, "What the—?" but Cameron gave him a look that clearly told him to shut up, and they continued the flanking maneuver. They upped the pace because the light was getting scarce already, and nobody wanted to hunker down for the night in the middle of a firefight.

The team kept on running, ducking under branches, stepping over logs, and it went without saying that they had to watch for zombies too. All the while Cameron had to take a look back to make sure that Sarah wasn't falling out.

The path that they were following led up a steady incline, making the walk a bit more difficult. Eventually the sounds of gunfire returned, so they spread out and got behind trees, lining up from left to right as best they could. Cameron gave the signal and they moved onward ready to shoot anything that posed a threat.

Bounding forward tree to tree, things were going good so far. Cameron was in the middle, to his immediate left was Sarah (though he'd have preferred Cole, who was on her other side), and to his right were Phil and Andrea. The machinegun fire was getting louder. Soon enough the bastards would be in sight, and by the time they figured out—

More bullets erupted from their right. "MOTHERFUCKER!" yelled Phil, dropping to the ground.

"CONTACT!" Andrea hollered, taking cover.

"Shit!" Cameron raged, getting behind a tree. These bastards were guarding the other bastards' flank. Cameron's worst nightmare: bandits with actual intelligence. He couldn't dwell on that, though. "Everyone get as close as you can to Phil!"

When there was the slightest pause in the enemy fire, Cameron dashed out of cover keeping his head low. He managed to reach Phil, and pulled him behind the closest tree that offered enough protection. It was not a pretty sight: Phil's right leg was in bad shape and was bleeding pretty bad—he'd be lucky to walk properly again…if they made it out alive.

As the rest of the team returned fire, Cameron got down, took out a tourniquet from a pouch he had strapped to his side, and tightened it a few inches above the wound. Phil made renewed sounds of pain.

"I need two of you to get the hell out and warn the other team!" he ordered, standing back up with his back against the tree. Aiming around the trunk, Cameron pinpointed the enemy's location and started firing. The covering fire he provided was sufficient enough to allow two to high tail it out of there. Figures, the one time they didn't have radios!

"What do we do now, Cam?"

Cameron stopped firing and looked sideways in disbelief. Sarah was the one that stayed behind. He had forgotten all about her, otherwise Cameron would have told her to go back to the other team. _Son of a bitch!_

In his mind he couldn't help but go over every possible choice he had in front of him. He couldn't let Sarah go back by herself, much less leave Cameron with a wounded Phil. He didn't think she had the aim or fortitude to cover Cameron as he carried Phil. And there was no way she had it in her to carry Phil herself. No choice, option two had to do.

"I need you to cover me as I help Phil out of here," Cameron told her. "Can you handle that?" Sarah gulped but nodded. Grabbing Phil's left arm, he asked, "Think you can hop?"

"Yeah," he said, screwing his face up in pain as he got up on his good leg with Cameron's help. Sarah had to be burdened with Phil's rifle, since they couldn't just leave it and the ammo in it behind. Cameron's rifle went behind his own back, and took out his pistol. As awkward as it would be to use it in his current position Cameron wasn't about to go around without a weapon in hand.

"Alright, Sarah, shoot at them."

"But I can't see them!" she said nervously.

"They're near those bushes over there—just shoot, god dammit!"

Her aim was true enough that it got their aggressors to momentarily stop firing, giving Cameron and Phil the chance to break cover. It was slow going from the get go. Phil was no lightweight, and Cameron was far from Mr. Universe.

At first Sarah was hovering around them and aiming her rifle around randomly, until Cameron yelled at her to always stay behind some kind of cover; otherwise she'd be a nice, juicy target.

_We are going to die_, Cameron kept on saying to himself. He hated himself for thinking that, for actually believing it, but there was just no use. Whenever they went too fast, Phil would always wobble dangerously causing them to stop so he could regain balance. Sarah did the best she could to cover them from the bandits that they knew were now following them.

Then there were the zombies. Sarah tried to take care of them too, but Cameron said she needed to focus on the approaching bandits. Phil had a pistol in the hand he wasn't using to hold onto Cameron, and was able to take care of the things. All the noise was starting to draw them in from all over.

Somehow they made it back to the road—which was not a good thing. There was nobody to be found there, and they were now totally exposed. As much as he wanted to head back to where they started, there was no way in hell they were going to make it. So they had no other choice but to dive into the woods on the other side of the road, and try to find the squad at one of the rendezvous points—one of several potential ones.

Back in the woods fatigue was starting to settle in. He had gotten used to running for his life, but not with two hundred pounds of extra weight hanging onto him. Finally it happened. A root got the best of them, causing the both Cameron and Phil to topple to the ground.

"Fuck!" Phil groaned, gripping his leg. "Just leave me her, I'll try to hold them off."

"No way," Cameron said, about to try and help him up again.

"Why?" he asked, looking up at him with a slightly puzzled look. "Thought you'd be happier with me outta the picture."

"Am I scared that Becky might one day leave me? Hell yes!" Cameron responded truthfully. "Am I worried that she'll leave me for you? In your fucking dreams!" he said, hauling him back up. "I don't care how big of a dickbag you are, Phil—I don't leave my people behind!"

The noise level rose as bullets started whizzing past them, forcing them behind cover again. Sarah aimed around a tree and returned fire. Cursing when she came up empty, she swapped her rifle for Phil's. She started to fire again, but after a few rounds Sarah suddenly stopped, her face became flushed as she gagged a little, and she fell to her knees.

"What's wrong?" Cameron yelled at her.

"I…I hit one of them—_I killed him_," she gasped, looking even sicker and possibly wanting to throw up.

"_That's a good thing!_" Cameron and Phil both screamed. Forget everything that happened before—it was that moment that made it crystal clear that Sarah had no business being out here. Like some of the residents, she got way too complacent in Yuba's walls, and forgot that it was kill or be killed. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Any other time Cameron might have tried to talk to her and say everything will be okay, but now was obviously not one of those times. "SARAH, YOU ARE THE ONLY THING KEEPING THOSE FUCKERS AT A DISTANCE! _SHOOT BACK!_"

Taking a huge gulp, Sarah regained some of her composure, aimed the rifle, and shot back. During a brief moment of relative safety, Cameron and Phil took off again with Sarah in tow. Unfortunately as they went they quickly ran out of ammunition, even with the extra that Cameron had on him. Sarah wanted to toss the rifles, but Cameron squashed her wish flat. They would need them for whenever they met back up with the squad and got more.

The rendezvous point was a neighborhood that wasn't far from their location. When the woods ended where the backyard to a house began, they picked up their pace because their foes weren't far behind. The backdoor was locked, so Cameron wasted no time in shooting the lock and using his and Phil's combined weight to bust it open.

"Hello!" Cameron cried, desperately hoping the squad was there. They'd have been smart and used the front entrance, so as to not make it obvious to the bandits where they were hiding. But nothing came. They were in that house alone.

"Damn," Phil sighed with resignation. "I'd be all for making a last stand, but with that ammo?"

But Cameron wasn't paying attention. His gaze fell on the refrigerator, where there were aged photos of a happy family stuck on with magnets. "I'm gonna kill as many of these fucks as it takes so I can see my daughter again," Cameron said quietly. He caught Phil off guard as he started to look through the house, ready to react to any zombie that might be lurking.

As he expected there was nothing useful for them. The only reliable weapon Cameron had on him was a knife. Well if that's all he had, so be it. He led them upstairs, down the hallway, and to the room at the end. Looking out the back window Cameron saw the bandits emerge from the woods in the last bit of sunlight that was left.

A shoddy plan formed in his head, but it was a plan nonetheless. Cameron had them put all the useless weapons they had in the middle of the room in plain view from the door. Phil and Sarah questioned this, but he took the edge of his hand and slit the air in front of his throat to signal them to shut up.

Then he took Phil and put him in the closet.

"What do I do?" asked Sarah.

"Get in there with him."

"But—" She stopped when they heard sounds coming from downstairs.

"Go," Cameron ordered her.

Sarah looked completely torn. She looked from the Cameron to the closet and back to Cameron, as if she was waging a war in her mind. Sarah took a step towards the closet, but then turned back, grabbed Cameron's shirt, and roughly pulled him in so that she could plant her lips onto his!

Cameron was so stunned by this that it took a while for it to register, until he finally pushed her off.

"Sorry," Sarah said apologetically, entering the closet before he could say anything. "But Becky wasn't the only one who had a crush on you after you saved us." He caught a glimpse of Phil's shocked and envious expression before the door was closed. There was going to be hell to pay for that when Becky found out (there was no way he was going to risk keeping it a secret), but no use in thinking about it now.

Still a bit dumbfounded, Cameron shook his head and focused on the task at hand. Taking out his knife, Cameron opened the door wider and hid behind it, pressing himself against the wall.

As he stood there, Cameron gripped the knife in his hand tightly, praying that his plan would work. Then he heard it: footsteps coming up the stairs. Listening closely, his heart leapt a bit when he heard that it was only one person coming up. If it were two or more of them then he would have been screwed. Slowly the footsteps drew closer and closer to the room he was in. The bandit seemed to be checking each room one by one.

Finally the footsteps stopped right outside the room. _Please be retarded_, Cameron thought over and over again. _Please be retarded!_

He was retarded! Ever so slowly he heard as the bandit walked into the room, no doubt getting a closer look at the weapons visible by the bit of moonlight shining through the window. As soon as the bandit cleared the door, Cameron silently stepped out of his hiding spot, amazed at how soft he could make his footsteps.

The man was wearing a ratty leather jacket, jeans, and had long, greasy hair. Once Cameron was close enough, he leapt forward, and in one swift motion he covered the bandit's mouth with one hand and with the other he plunged the knife into his neck. The carotid artery was severed, blood gushed out, and the bandit let his rifle fall to the ground as he reached up to grasp at his neck.

The rifle made a clattering sound that would no doubt be heard downstairs. Wasting no more time with him, Cameron tossed the bandit aside, knife still embedded in the neck. The man was making awful gurgling noises as he thrashed around experiencing a very agonizing death. Blood just kept on pumping out, getting all over the floor.

Cameron didn't stop to react to that, though. He automatically scooped up the rifle in his hands and went out into the hallway, just as another one of them yelled, "What's going on up there?" One of them ran up the stairs, and no sooner did he reach the landing than Cameron placed two rounds right into the man's chest, causing him to tumble back down.

And so ended his plan…. Now what? Cameron asked himself.

"What the hell is going on up there?" a third yelled frantically.

"Take a wild guess, dumb fuck!" Cameron shouted, keeping the rifle aimed at the stairs.

"Give yourselves up! You're outnumbered and we have this place surrounded!"

"Not gonna happen!" As far as Cameron could tell, his only hope was to stay keep things the way they were for a couple of days until a search party finally found the predicament they were in…. Something told him that wasn't how things were going to play out.

All of a sudden a retching sound came from within the room, and a minute later Sarah walked out looking flushed in the little bit of light there was. She supported herself on the doorframe, her legs were wobbly, and she was wiping her mouth. _Oh yeah, she threw up_. "Still got that crush on me?" he asked in exasperation.

"Shut up," she heaved, spitting on the floor.

"Is that the girl up there?" the bandit from downstairs asked with relish. "Yeah, I caught a glimpse of her on the way here. I'm gonna have some fun with her!"

"As if I'd let that happen, asshole!" Cameron snarled.

The next hour or so Cameron didn't way a single word. He had to put the rifle down a bit since his arms were getting tired, but it was ready to be brought back up at a moment's notice. In the meanwhile the bandits downstairs were discussing what to do. The only answer they could come up with was rush upstairs all at once, but nobody volunteered to be the first on up, knowing they'd get shot down the second they reached the landing.

All the while Sarah sat in a corner of the hallway with her knees to her chest. Cameron kept telling her to get back in the closet, but she refused to listen. Her eyes would always wander over to the corpse, and she'd instantly look away. Cameron knew that while it was easy to do away with a zombie, doing the same to a person whose heart was still beating was a different story entirely. Odds were that she didn't like the reminder that there was another side to the guy that she thought she knew—friend, brother-in-law to be, shooting instructor, and now taker of lives.

"We're gonna die, aren't we?" she asked sullenly.

"No," Cameron said flatly.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Cause I have a daughter back home, Sarah. And as much as I like Dennis, he isn't the one she'll be calling dad."

Nodding, Sarah looked back at the body, and then quickly turned away again. Exhaling, Cameron let his expression soften and he searched for a change of subject. "Why didn't you do anything about it?"

"Huh?"

"The crush. You said you had one on me, so how come you didn't say anything before."

For the first time since getting into trouble she smiled slightly. "Cam, the first week after the rescue, I saw you staring at the ass of a woman that had to be ten years older than you. Shannon Gavers, on the other hand, who's good looking and only a year younger, you completely ignored even though it was obvious she wanted to fuck you. I knew I didn't stand a chance, so I just stood back as Becky went full force."

Smirking and shaking his head, Cameron just said, "Thanks for that." He didn't have to mention how awkward it would have been to turn her down.

They fell back into silence as the meeting of the minds downstairs continued. Then one of them suggested, "Set fire to the house." Cameron felt as if his insides disappeared. His knees buckled and he slid against the wall as sounds of agreement issued from downstairs. They finally figured out a way to get them out.

"Cam," Sarah whispered in fear.

They _were_ going to die! There was absolutely no way out. Even if the rest of the squad found them in the nick of time, Cameron didn't think they'd have enough ammo to take out the bandits. More dread washed upon him when he heard one of them say they found a lighter. The bastards didn't even try to keep their voices down as he heard them talk about setting some of the furniture on fire, knowing that their prey was trapped.

"Cam," Sarah repeated, kneeling down in front of him.

Looking up at her, Cameron saw that Sarah had the same clear blue eyes that Becky had, only at the moment they were full of fear. He sniffed and held back tears, now thinking of Chloe—he wasn't going to be around for any of her firsts, to see her grow up.

"You know I already consider you family, right?" Cameron said to Sarah, trying not to cry. "Becky, you…your aunt," he added tersely. He smiled sadly. "I was expecting to make you an aunt one day, too y'know."

Sarah didn't say anything and just helped him stand up as one of the bandits announced he found some fluid that would make things catch fire easier. Soon they could hear the crackling of the fire, and the smell of smoke was in the air. "What do we do, Cam?"

Sighing, he said, "C'mon." Cameron led them into the room and he opened the closet to reveal Phil.

"So what's going on?" he asked nervously.

"Well we got a choice to make," Cameron told him and Sarah. "The place is on fire. We can either stay here and burn, go out and face them, or…" Cameron grimaced and didn't meet their eyes.

"No," said Sarah, shaking her head. "I'm not doing that. I'd rather just face them."

"But they'll—"

"I know," she interrupted.

"I'm with her," agreed Phil.

"Alright, let's do it then," sighed Cameron. He could tell the fire was spreading rapidly. Before leaving, Cameron went to the corpse and removed the knife still embedded in the neck. Once the blood was quickly wiped off Cameron handed it to Sarah, who was hesitant but he forced it into her hands. If and when those fuckers tried anything with her she'd be ready.

Picking Phil back up, the three of them took off as fast as they could. The smoke was so thick that they put their sleeves over their noses, and the heat was almost too much to bear. The front door would have been the fastest way out, but it was blocked by flaming debris. Instead they headed towards the back door.

In the kitchen something exploded right before they entered. Smoldering debris littered the floor making Phil's hopping more difficult. The refrigerator, Cameron noticed, was engulfed in flames and pictures that were on it were completely gone—along with might be the last bit of proof that that family ever existed at all.

The backdoor was wide open, as if waiting for them to come through. The reason for that was painfully obvious: once they crossed the threshold the people gathered around started laughing.

Keeping their faces set, the three of them moved towards them. There was no escape.

"Well, well, well," said the one that seemed to be the leader. He was twirling a pistol gleefully in his hand as they approached. "You chase us across an entire state, and now you're the ones being hunted. Oh how the tables have turned."

Cameron and Phil exchanged confused looks. What was he talking about?

"First thing's first. C'mere, sweetness, we got big plans for you," he said to Sarah, grinning horribly and licking his lips.

"Go fuck yourself," she replied.

"I won't have to anymore," he chortled. "You two get on the ground." Again, no other choice, Cameron carefully set Phil on the grass before getting on his knees. "Let's get this over with," the bandit said lazily, approaching them.

"Word of advice," Cameron said to him, "let her go."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because there's gonna be a search party when we don't go back home, and among them will be her sister. And if she finds _you_ before she finds _her_, you're all royally fucked."

The filth just smirked and raised his gun—then there was a far off popping sound, immediately followed by the bandit keeling over, rolling in pain. He barely noticed as more popping sounds went off, and the rest of the bandits began toppling over. Although he didn't know what was going on, Cameron quickly stood up and grabbed the pistol that the bandit dropped.

The fire behind him was spreading, flooding the backyard with orange light. Raising the pistol, he swept it left and right. He spotted two of the bandits making attempts to reclaim their weapons, but Cameron swiftly went over to kick them away.

"You fucker," the head shitbag groaned. "What did you do?"

"Wish I knew." Cameron aimed the pistol down at him. "But it doesn't matter. Try anything funny and it's over for you."

"I'd rather you not," a voice called. It came from the woods, and Cameron's jaw dropped as he saw four people with rifles casually stroll out of the trees. "And will you put that down, please?"

"Who the hell are you people?" Cameron demanded, positioning himself in front of Sarah and Phil.

"The ones who saved your asses," the leader answered obviously. The man said to his guys, "Get to work." To Cameron, Phil, and Sarah's bewilderment the newcomers took zip ties out of their pockets, and began restraining the hands and feet of the fallen bandits.

"What are—?"

The man in charge held up a finger, raising a radio to his mouth. "Status."

"We got six over here."

"Awesome. What about the distraction?"

"Safe and sound. Want us to link up with you?"

"Yes."

"See you in a bit, then. Out."

"Your friends are all okay," the man said to Cameron in a satisfied manner, hooking the radio to his belt. "Including these four, we've got ten in total," he announced to his people. "Good haul today, guys!" All of them cheered in semi-enthusiastic fashion as they piled the struggling bandits together.

Many things were going through Cameron's mind, so he decided on asking, "Distraction?"

"Hey, we didn't force you to poke the bee's nest," the man said defensively. "We've been chasing these bastards since Minnesota, and when we spotted you guys earlier we decided to take the opportunity to finally wrangle these guys in."

None of them spoke for a few seconds, until Phil asked, "And, uh, why were you chasing them?"

The man just smiled. "You guys from some town or whatever that banded together, right?" They nodded. "Fuck that! I'd go nuts cooped up in once place! Nah, the closest thing we have to a home is this client that pays in supplies if we bring bandits to them."

"Why—?"

"Manual labor," he answered quickly.

"How did you take these guys down, then?"

"Rubber bullets," the man told him, patting his rifle affectionately. "They work wonders."

_No doubt_, Cameron thought, remembering being shot by one the previous year.

"Hey, not to be rude, but as soon as my other guys get here with your people we're outta here."

Cameron wanted to know a bit more, but he figured that it didn't matter. Shrugging, he just smiled and stuck out his hand, saying, "Thanks."

Less than ten minutes ago Cameron thought for certain that they were going to die. And now he watched as four vehicles pulled into the driveway of the burning house. Two of them were vans that belonged to the bandit hunters, who loaded up their bounty with the rest of the filth. It was a testament to how much Cameron hated bandits that he didn't care that they'd be forced into servitude. Without ever even giving them his name, the man simply waved goodbye and they were gone as quickly as they came.

In the other cars, Phil was laid across the back seat of one of them. They tried to get Paula to do the same in the other car, but she refused because that would mean they'd have to leave some behind and make two trips.

On the ride back Cameron was reflecting on what must have been his thousandth near death experience. Sooner or later his luck would have to run out. But then he noticed that Sarah was staring out the window, looking as if she had a lot on her mind.

"Anything wrong?" he asked.

Sarah gave him a look, shifted her gaze, and stared back out the window. "No."

"Listen," he began in an understanding tone, "I don't like doing what I do—but I do it because it's necessary for us to get home."

"It's not that," she sighed.

"Then what?"

"Becky's gonna kill me when she finds out what I did."


	53. extra 3: Princess's Fiasco

Chloe Prince brought the axe up, left it up in the air for a second, and then with a grunt full of rage she swung it back down easily cleaving the log in half pretending it was that bastard's head. Quickly replacing the log with another, she repeated the process. Again, again, and again. More than anything she wished that she were around back in the zombie's heyday, giving her a more satisfying outlet for all her anger. But now the damn things were so scant and decrepit that it wasn't even worth it.

Chloe brought the axe down once more, splitting another log as if it had been the one that had personally wronged her. This time she brought own too hard and it got stuck in the tree stump she'd been using as a base. Putting a foot against it, Chloe tugged at the axe until she stumbled back a bit when she got it free…. Another log.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask what was wrong," Becky said, walking out from the house with a bemused smile.

"Nothing," she answered swiftly, bringing the axe back up and swinging it back down.

"C'mon, talk to me," she went on. "Who do you think was the one that showed you this outlet for stress?" Becky patted the expanding lump on her belly as she waited for an answer.

Still not wanting to talk, Chloe said, "Should you be walking around in that condition?"

"I'm pregnant, Chloe, not a vegetable," Becky answered. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"Martin broke up with me!" she snarled, grabbing for another log only to find she was out.

"Really? Why?" she asked, confused.

"His damn parents don't like me!" Chloe told her, tossing the axe aside. "They say…they say that I don't come from a proper family."

She stood stock still as she absorbed those words. "I'm gonna _fucking_ kill them!" Becky yelled furiously, actually turning to leave.

"Wait, wait," Chloe said quickly, calming down some and grabbing on to Becky. "I suppose if Martin doesn't have stones to stand up to his parents then he's not worth it." The thought cheered her up some, so she said again, "Yeah, he's not worth it."

"That still doesn't make it right," she fumed. Gripping her shoulder, Becky told her, "Chloe, I don't give a damn about blood, you are my daughter, too. Got that?"

Smiling a little, Chloe said, "I know, Becky…. Thanks."

"Want my advice?" she asked after a pause. Chloe nodded. "Go out and have some fun."

"Kind of a tall order in this town."

"I'm sure you'll find something."

Becky spread her legs and bent down to pick up the axe, but Chloe quickly scooped it up instead. "Y'know, if you and dad insist on having sex, at least use condoms," she said.

"I know," Becky sighed, straightening back up as they headed back in the house, "but they're a total bitch to make." Chloe couldn't help but grin, though, since Becky was in that stage where she welcomed the addition to the family. Angie was transitioning into a teenager, and Dave was getting older, too.

Later that day found Chloe at the dining hall with two her friends, who were in the process of bitching out Martin.

"He was a douche, anyways," Mark said flatly.

"Yeah, no where near good enough for Princess," Kendra commented.

"Shut the fuck up," Chloe told her, annoyed but smiling. Because of that nickname, Chloe often found herself wishing she were given her dad's name instead of her mom's. It was made even worse when her dad reached a pretty damn high position in town. And her friends, knowing that pity wouldn't get them anywhere, instead treated her like they normally did—which is exactly what she wanted.

"He's right, though, why did you ever go out with him?" That question wasn't new, either. Kendra generally wondered since day one why Chloe ever went out with Martin.

"Who cares, at least that mama's boy is outta the picture," Mark commented.

That generated a round of sniggering. The verbal abuse towards her ex was certainly cheering up Chloe, although she couldn't help but wonder where her other two friends were. It wasn't as if Mark and Kendra weren't enough company, but she'd appreciate the support of—

"Oh shit," Mark said.

"What?" Chloe and Kendra said together. Mark jabbed his thumb over at the entrance, where Will and Joanne were having an argument as they entered the dining hall.

"What's wrong with them?" Chloe asked.

"Dunno," Kendra replied slowly, eyeing Will suspiciously. "Anything wrong, _Will?_"

"Of course not," he claimed, his voice a little strained.

"Then what was the fight about?" Chloe asked skeptically.

"It was nothing," Joanne said, sitting next to her and looking a bit flustered. "So already exhausted the topic of how big a dick Martin is?"

"Not in the slightest," she said with a smile.

With that they struck up a conversation on what they should do to make Chloe feel better. They suggested everything from sneaking alcohol from the distillery and getting drunk to…well that was about it. There wasn't a whole lot to do in town. If any of them wanted to get out of town they had to wait until they needed hands at the docks at Lake Michigan or some other outpost.

…Then for the first time in her seventeen years Chloe asked herself, _Why though?_

"What's up?" Joanne asked, seeing the face Chloe was making.

"How come we've never gone out of town overnight?" Chloe asked them, making sure that no one was listening in.

That question took them all by surprise. "What do you mean? Of course we have," Will said.

"Yeah, but never for no good reason."

"Uh…why would we want to?" Mark asked.

"For the hell of it!" she said enthusiastically. "Can any of you honestly say you've left Yuba's borders just to have a good time? All we've ever done out there is collect supplies at the docks or something boring like that. I say we get out and have some fun."

"What the hell is so fun about being exposed in hostile territory?" Mark demanded.

"What the hell is so fun about staying here and doing nothing?" she retorted. "Let's get new experiences in. Isn't that what people our age are supposed to be doing?" Being young and recently dumped, Chloe was up to do almost anything reckless.

"You're forgetting a few things, Chloe, we can't go out just like that," Kendra said obviously. "We'd need first aid, food, transportation, guns!"

"Kendra, where the hell do you work?" Chloe asked in an exasperated manner.

"Duh, at the…clinic," she answered slowly, coming to a realization.

"And how hard would it be to nab a field medical kit?"

She thought about it, and Kendra said, "Not hard at all."

"See, that's first aid out of the way," Chloe simply said. "Now I wonder who here would be able to provide transportation…"

Shaking his head and laughing softly, Will said, "You know very well I can get us into the horse stables."

Looking towards Joanne and Mark, Chloe asked them, "And wouldn't it be simple for you guys to provide food for this hypothetical trip?"

Neither of them said anything for a second, until Mark said reluctantly, "Yeah I should be able to grab some bread from the bakery."

Everyone looked at Joanne, who casually said, "Fine, I'll take some steaks." Her father was the town's main butcher.

"And getting into the armory is a piece of cake for the Defense Advisor's daughter…. So what do you guys say?" Chloe finished.

"Y'know that we'd get in a shit ton of trouble, right?" said Will.

"So we'll be put on some crappy detail for a little while. Who cares? C'mon, guys."

There was a silence that hung there for a few seconds, and Chloe was worried that they would all turn down her idea. It was a risk sure, but it was a change of pace that all of them should have welcomed. Also, while the supplies they were proposing to take _might_ be considered plundering…it wouldn't be that big of a deal, would it?

"Fuck it, why not?" Joanne conceded.

"Alright, I'm in," said Will.

"Okay," Kendra said.

"Fine," said Mark.

"My folks got business tomorrow around three. Let's meet at the stables then with all the supplies so we can take off," Will told them. They all agreed.

So the next day Chloe went back at her dad's house, and opened the door with her key. Expecting it empty, she was surprised to see Angie tutoring her younger cousin Ryan. They only acknowledged her with a nod and went right back to work. Taking advantage of the distraction Chloe went for her dad's bedroom.

Once in, Chloe opened the wardrobe, grabbed a box from the top shelf, and took out the armory's spare key. _Piece of cake_, she thought as she pocketed it. With a smile she left the bedroom just as Angie was telling Ryan, "You have to carry the one." As if she hadn't done anything Chloe just strolled over to the front door. Just as she wondered how the others were doing, Angie suddenly asked, "What are you up to?"

"What do you mean?" Chloe asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I'm not stupid," Angie said, turning in her seat to look at her. "You just walked in and out of mom and dad's room. Obviously you grabbed the key to the armory."

"Dad asked me to," she swiftly lied.

"What happened to the copy he always has with him?" she persisted suspiciously.

"How would I know?" Chloe said airily.

"I'll ask him," Angie warned.

"Go ahead, Ms. Goodie goodie," she told her sister, going over to pat her head. _I'll be gone by the time you get the chance, anyway_.

With a wave she left the house, and walked to her mom's house, where she had stashed a sack with a change of clothes and a sleeping bag. At the moment Chloe was thankful Jack had moved out to live with his girlfriend, otherwise she might have risked running into him—and he'd have been a lot harder to simply wave off.

Now with her sack, Chloe arrived at the armory, unlocked it, and entered it as if it were the most natural thing in the world (because it was). In the sack she put five pistols with a spare magazine for each one. And simple as that, she went back outside, locked up, and stashed her sack outside her dad's house so that she could return the key to its proper place. Angie was still giving her a look that Chloe ignored.

And by three Chloe was making her way over to the stables where everyone else was waiting for her.

"Got the goods?" Joanne asked.

In response, Chloe handed out the pistols and magazines to each of them. "What about you guys?" she asked, taking a saddle and taking it over to a horse.

"We're good," said Mark, patting the sack he had tied to his horse's saddle.

Chloe began strapping the saddle on her horse, but it began stirring uneasily. "It's okay, girl," she said to it, patting the flank. It was as if the horse could sense that they were going beyond the perimeter without permission. After settling it down some, Chloe tightened up the horse's saddle, tied the sack onto it, stuck the pistol in the saddle's holster, and mounted the horse.

"Ready?" Chloe asked everyone. They all nodded.

"Let's ride!" Joanne yelled.

Bursting out of the stables, they galloped onto the road and headed for the nearest gate. Leaning forward Chloe let the wind whip through her long, red hair. Since they were on the outskirts of town they only passed a few people that threw them curious looks as they rode past. Upon reaching the gate, the person standing guard shouted as they passed, "What the hell!"

"We'll be back tomorrow!" Chloe hollered back. They were in _so_ much trouble…

"So where the hell are we going?" Will asked over the galloping.

"Dunno," Chloe responded. "I figured we'd just keep riding until it starts getting dark."

"Sounds good to me!" Mark exclaimed.

Once far enough away they decided to slow to a steady trot. "So what are the odds our folks will come looking for us?" Will asked.

"Not all that high," Kendra said calmly. "I mean they got better shit to do than to come and get us."

"Speak for yourself, my mom might freak," Joanne told her.

"Look, they know we're not retarded," Chloe reasoned, although her mom might freak, too. "And even if they wanted to, they wouldn't be able to form a big enough search party."

"I suppose," Will said, easing up some.

"Yeah," Mark interjected, "they aren't gonna waste gas and mileage, and they aren't gonna waste time searching on horseback."

The five friends rode on for a few more hours just taking in the scenery. The road that they were riding on was falling apart, vegetation had been taking it over for years and there was nothing to stop it. The road was also littered with rusted and beaten down hunks of metal. To Chloe this was the world she lived in and never knew it to be different. People her age could only wonder what it must have been like before the infection.

Her parents may be content being confined to the town since it was their sanctuary in the early years, but not Chloe. She realized now that not only did she want to blow off steam, but to expand her horizons. Even if it was just going to be for the night she had to get out.

Another two hours passed and on a whim the group made the next right. It was the same old thing; only this time it turned out the road they were on was a dead end. To their left was a broken down house, and everywhere else they were surrounded by trees.

"So should we double back, or go off road?" Will asked.

"Neither," Mark groaned, dismounting his horse and rubbing his lower back. "This seems like a good a place as any."

"Agreed," Kendra said, following suite.

When Chloe got off her horse she found that she was pretty damn sore too. "Let's get set in that house," she suggested.

"Why?" Joanne said, confused. "Isn't the point of this to be outdoors?"

Giving her a look, Chloe argued, "We'd have to pull guard shifts, then. A zombie could—"

Joanne snorted. "It's been years since those things have been an actual threat!"

"Then how about you stand in front of one and do absolutely nothing? I'd love to see a newly reanimated zombie."

That wiped the smile off her face. "Okay, point taken. Let's settle in, then."

The horses were tied up on the poles of the house's concrete porch, and took their belongings inside. First off they checked every room to make sure it was all clear—which it was. After that they placed their sleeping bags in the living room. "Excellent!" Joanne exclaimed, rubbing her hands together once they were done. "Who's up for some steak courtesy of my dad?"

All of a sudden Chloe's stomach growled, and everyone nodded in agreement. In the kitchen Joanne looked through the cabinets and found some stainless steel frying pans. It wasn't until then that they realized they were missing something crucial: fire. In hindsight they should have started cooking the second they got there.

"Well fuck!" Joanne groaned.

"C'mon, let's just go gather firewood," Kendra said.

"Only one of us has to go out," Mark said, holding up his sack of bakery items. "We could have a few of these in the meantime."

"Not it!" Kendra suddenly shouted.

"Not it!" Joanne, Will, and Mark yelled.

"Not—_Fuck!_" Chloe blurted out a split second too late. Giving them the evil eye, she told them, "I'm not about to risk going out there by myself. One of you are going with me."

"Alright, alright, I'll go too," Will laughed.

All of a sudden, Joanne urgently said, "On second thought maybe I should go—"

"No, Will can go," Mark interrupted, pulling Joanne back hard.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" she hissed audibly at Mark.

"Nothing," he defended. Waving away Will and Chloe, he said, "You two go on."

"Okay," Chloe said slowly, a little confused.

"Here, to tide you guys over," Mark said, tossing both of them some cornbread.

Catching it, Chloe left the house with Will, passed the tied up horses, and started making their way to the woods. But halfway across the street Chloe ended up turning back and powered walked to her horse, so that she could take her pistol and spare magazine from the saddle's holster.

"Holy shit!" Will remarked, also getting his pistol. "Did we actually check the house without our guns?"

"Yeah!" she said, pissed at herself. "God dammit, my dad would fucking kill me if he ever found out how stupid we were!" Since the first day Chloe held a gun her dad drilled two things into her: safety…and _always_ have your weapon in reach whenever you were beyond the perimeter. Hell, it was specifically her job to get the weapons. Imagine, Cameron Marsh's daughter getting killed in the wilderness because she was unarmed!

Eating at her cornbread she was surprised to see she had walked into the woods while she was busy bitching at herself. Stuffing down the rest of food and tucking her pistol away, Chloe began looking down at the ground with Will as they walked. You'd think that finding firewood in the woods would be easy, but unfortunately mother nature made it much more of a chore than it had to be.

It had rained the previous night. All the big chunks of wood that would've made a good fire were wet and it would be a lot of trouble to ignite it. They ended up having to kick around for some that was relatively dry, slowly gathering it up in their arms as they went. But as tedious as the job was they spent almost a half hour picking out good kindling because they wanted those steaks to cook well.

Eventually Chloe suggested splitting up just to get the search over with quicker. Will seemed against it but he gave in.

Chloe saw what looked like a promising stick, which she bent down to pick it up. Her fingers enclosed on the stick and instantly there was a gurgling sound coming from under the wet leaves. Yelping in surprise, Chloe dropped all her wood and backed away quickly. Heart still pumping madly, she inched back closer and the dry gurgling sound came again. Then all anxiety vanished and it was replaced by annoyance.

"What happened?" Will yelped, running into view and pointing his pistol in all directions.

"Nothing—and be careful with that!" Chloe said, forcing his gun down.

Snatching up the sharper of the sticks she dropped, Chloe used it to move the leaves on the ground to reveal a skull with hanging rotten flesh. At the sight of her it made that dry gurgle once more, and made the feeblest attempt at trying to move. _Damn zombie_, she thought, sticking the pointy end of the stick through the thing's eye. It was so hard to believe that those things actually used to be human beings.

Letting out a sigh, Chloe told Will to go back and get all the wood he had abandoned and began picking back up all the wood in front of her. By then the sun was starting to set and Will rightfully suggested that they get back before it gets dark.

"Man I can't believe it," Will suddenly chimed in.

"What?"

"How retarded Martin is."

Chloe snickered. "Thanks, but he's never exactly wronged _you_."

"Please, if we were dating I wouldn't give a shit what my parents thought about you."

"Yeah, but it also helps that your folks are good friends with mine," she pointed out. Cole and Kat had fought alongside her dad for years, and still do even though they mainly take care of the horse stables.

"Still, I wouldn't be dumb enough to break up with you."

Will gave her a smile, and at that instant something clunked into place inside of Chloe's brain: Joanne arguing with Will, Joanne's reluctance to let Will go with Chloe, Mark encouraging it, and finally the current conversation…. _Oh shit_. "Well it doesn't matter," Chloe said, doing her best to keep her voice straight. "I won't have to worry about relationships for long ass time."

"Well, yeah that's kind of obvious," he said, although a flicker of disappointment seemed to have passed through him. "It's not healthy to rush into another relationship."

Feeling a bit relieved, Chloe let them fall into silence. It wasn't as if she didn't like Will, or she only saw him as a friend, or something dumb like that. She just never considered it since she had no clue how he felt. Exiting the woods, the house was in sight across the road and she saw something that made her groan: there was an extra horse by the porch. Apparently someone from Yuba _did_ follow them, forcing them to face the music twenty-four hours earlier than she'd have liked. Oh well, might as well get it over—

Will freed one arm and stuck it out to stop Chloe. "What?" she asked.

"That's not one of our horses," he warned her.

"C'mon, how can you tell?"

"You know how many years I've spent brushing and feeding them? Trust me, I know."

Together they receded back into the trees and kept an eye on the windows. A minute later a man appeared in it and tried to squint through the glare of the sinking sun. Most likely seeing nothing, he left their sight again. He was clearly waiting for their return.

Dropping the wood in her arms and breaking out her pistol, Chloe said, "Make your way around to the rear of the house, while I sneak up the front."

"No way, he'll see you!"

"Don't worry, the sun will be behind me," she said. "Just remember not to engage until you know for a fact that he's hostile."

"But—"

"Just do it, Will!" Chloe told him.

"Fuck that, I'll go head on," Will said forcefully, dashing forward.

"_Will!_" she hissed. _Dammit!_ Seething, Chloe ducked back behind the trees and proceeded to maneuver her way around the house unseen. She swore that he was going to get it the next time she saw him. Stupid romantic, chivalrous feelings had no place when danger was around. In a gap between the trees Chloe saw Will start crawling through the overgrown grass of the house's lawn. At least he had a brain.

Hoping to reach the reach the backyard of the house around the same time Will reached the front door, Chloe quickened her pace. She then saw a shed not far from the tree line that looked perfect to start her advance to the house. Rushing out from the trees, Chloe took cover from behind the shed, the damp grass and weeds reaching past her knees.

She pressed her back against the shed and peered around it. There was the man again patrolling the house and looking outside the windows he passed. The shed then started leaning and let out an audible creek. _Crap!_ Chloe was going to get her weight of the shed, but she was a split second too late and she fell with it as it collapsed.

"Who's there?" the man yelled, barging out the backdoor.

As Chloe tried to get her wits about herself, she hoped that the man wouldn't come to investigate, but they were unfounded as she heard him moving through the brush towards her. Aching, Chloe rolled onto her stomach, and slowly pushed herself up so she could just see above the grass. The man was coming towards her and had a gun in his hands. Verdict: hostile.

There was no way she could get a good shot off her from current position, and she didn't feel comfortable waiting until he got closer so she could shoot him point blank. So Chloe stood right and began running and firing her pistol. The man was startled but managed to dive behind a brick grill. Chloe ended up behind a tree with a rotted away swing set hanging from one of the branches.

"Give it up!" he shouted.

In response, Chloe aimed from around the tree and fired more rounds. The man took cover, fired back to force her back behind the tree, and the firefight ensued. Every time a round failed to hit her target, Chloe got more and more frustrated. She wasn't about to let this dickbag be the end of them. Bang! Bang! Bang! Miss, miss, miss. _Concentrate_, she told herself. _Remember your training._

There was a pause in the fire, so Chloe aimed once again and fired at whatever bit of the bastard she could see. There was suddenly a _click_ that made her blood run cold, so she hastily put her back against the tree to try and replace the magazine with fumbling fingers.

She managed to insert the magazine and load the chamber, when a searing pain crossed her arm. "_Dammit!_" Chloe screeched, doubling over in pain and clasping the spot where she got winged.

"Chloe!"

Bang! Dread filled every fiber of Chloe's being as a gagging noise issued from someone that sounded like Will. Her own wound forgotten, she left all cover to see as Will stumbled back against the wall of the house, grasping a bleeding wound on his stomach. The man she had been firing at still had his gun pointed in Will's direction.

"_YOU FUCK!_" Chloe screamed. Enraged more than she's ever been in her entire life, Chloe aimed and pulled the trigger over and over again, emptying the magazine in a matter of seconds. Four hit their mark: one in the belly, two in the chest, and one that ripped right through his throat.

The man collapsed out of sight behind the brick grill, but Chloe no longer gave him the slightest bit of attention. She began sprinting desperately to Will, who was breathing in deep gasps and bleeding. Kneeling next to him, in the light that was left, she saw him losing color rapidly and Chloe was drawing an absolute blank on what to do.

"Stay with me, Will. You'll be alright," she whispered to him frantically, pressing her hands over his to try and stop the bleeding.

"You…okay?" Will wheezed, eyeing her injury.

Glancing at her wound, she said, "It's nothing. You're the one that's really hurt, moron!"

"Chloe!" a different voice shouted. Looking inside, Chloe saw a tied up Kendra worming her way towards them. "Cut me loose! I'll try and help!"

Immediately, Chloe went inside the house and dug through her sack until she found a knife she had brought. Unsheathing it, she went over to Kendra and cut off her bonds. Kendra then went to her own sack and took out medical kit that she began using on Will.

A meek plan of action then formed inside Chloe's head. Cutting Joanne's bonds, she said to her, "You're gonna stay here and pull security." Going to Mark, she told him, "And you're coming with me back to town to get help."

It took maybe a second for that to register with Mark, but he finally got to his feet and ran out of the house with her. Outside Chloe untied her horse from the porch and quickly mounted it. Asking Mark if he had his spare magazine on him, he tossed it to Chloe, who quickly reloaded her pistol. She and Mark turned their horses back the way they had come from and started hauling ass back in the town's direction.

"You should get that cleaned," Mark said as they rode.

"No time," Chloe said.

"Seriously, let's stop for a second and—"

"NO!" she snarled, even though it hurt like hell.

_It's all my fault!_ Chloe couldn't help but think now. If she hadn't suggested going out they would have never run into that bastard and none of their lives would be in danger. _Fuck!_

The darkness was starting to settle in completely, and Chloe was seriously hoping that it wouldn't impair their ability to get back to Yuba before it was too late. Leaning forward, she urged her horse to go faster, even though it was probably already going at its top speed.

Night arrived in its entirety but the sky was blissfully clear, and the moon and stars lit their way as Chloe and Mark continued hurtling down the road. It was still dark enough, though, that neither of them would be able to spot a pothole or some other kind of obstruction, which would result in disaster if the horses got in its way. All they could do is trust their instincts to get them home.

Over an hour into their ride Mark suddenly pulled on the reigns, yelling, "Whoa!"

Seeing this, Chloe had her horse come to a stop too, and doubled back to him. "What're you doing?" she demanded angrily.

"That," he said, pointing over her shoulder. Looking over she spotted a dark figure silhouetted against the sky that she hadn't spotted.

Bringing out her pistol, she said, "C'mon." Squeezing the horse's sides she trotted with in the direction of the figure, guiding it with one hand while the other was ready to fire at a moment's notice. Mark did the same thing as he came up along side her.

The figure suddenly reached down and held something up! Fearing the worst, she and Mark raised their pistols, but then a bright light appeared—a flashlight! But it was unlikely that anybody for a hundred miles would have a flashlight, much less batteries, unless they were from…

"The question does not matter!" the figure yelled, still shining its light.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Chloe put her pistol away, and yelled back the proper response that everybody in Yuba knew: "The answer is Chuck Norris!" She sometimes wondered who this Chuck Norris person was, but at the moment she didn't care.

"You guys are in enough shit as it is, without me having to tell everyone you guys split up," Felix admonished, as the distance closed between them. "Alright, Princess, where—?"

"Will's been shot," Chloe informed him.

"What?" he asked after a pause.

"A hostile caught us off guard and tied us up," Mark said quickly. "Chloe and Will were away and tried to rescue us when they got back—but Will caught one."

Pulling out his heavily taped radio, Felix yelled into it, "Yuba, this is Recon! Over!"

"This is Yuba. Managed to make visual with the Juveniles?"

"Ran into two of them while they were en route back to town to warn us that one of their number has been shot. Prep a medivac ASAP! We'll meet it at the intersection of roads Q and G!"

"Oh my God! What do I tell—?"

"Nothing!" Felix ordered. "Just wait!"

"Roger."

"Recon out." Looking at them, Felix ordered, "Let's go!" Together, the three of them turned back towards home and once more started going at top speed.

The run in with Felix had reinvigorated Chloe with new hope. Not only did she not have to wait for a medivac to be prepped, one was going to meet them on the way back! Chloe may not have been as friendly with Felix as she was with other older people in town, but she knew enough about him from her parents to know he was a reliable. He had been in charge of Reconnaissance since the early days, and always did a hell of a job.

Without a hitch, less than half an hour later they approached a fork in the road that was formed by roads Q and G. Right there was the vehicle that was promised to them with Greg and an assistant inside. Mark, much to his dismay, was told to take the three horses back to Yuba's stables and explain what had happened, while Chloe and Felix got in the station wagon.

The light inside the vehicle finally brought attention to Chloe's wound. So as Chloe gave direction, Greg's assistant began to wrap her up. Greg started pressing Chloe for every little detail she could about Will's condition: how much blood, his breathing, responsiveness, anything that could help. But once she ran out of things she could remember, the car ride went on in an agonized silence.

"Good thing you were sent to bring us back," Chloe eventually said monotonously to Felix as she stared out the window.

"Bring you back? Ha!" he responded. "I was just asked to keep an eye on you in case anything happens. I wish I was able to track you guys faster, though."

"Track us?"

"Horses have to take a shit too," Felix said with an attempt at humor.

"Funny," she said, guilt eating away at her.

"It's not your fault."

"Going out was my idea!"

"You just wanted to have fun, right? You're parents may be pissed but they get that. It was that asshole's fault that it was ruined—and if Mark's right you saved their lives."

"Still—shit! Make a right here. The house is the last on the left."

Will was thankfully still conscious when they got into the house. Greg took over care and gave him a once over, declaring Kendra's patch job to be good enough to hold until they got back to town. He groaned in pain as he was carefully placed on a stretcher.

"Hang in there," Chloe said, trying not to panic as she walked along with the stretcher.

"Hey, Chloe," Will breathed, a smile cracking across his sweaty face and blood trickled out of the sides of his mouth. "This hurts like hell."

"Don't talk," she snapped urgently.

"Alright, everyone pack it in," Felix ordered, once Will was secured in the back of the station wagon.

"What about the horses?" Joanne asked.

"We'll get them tomorrow."

"What if—?"

"I don't care, I'm not leaving any of you out here with the possibility of more assholes out here. Now get in!"

Following orders without further question, Chloe, Kendra, and Joanne filled in the back seat. Felix was driving, the medical assistant was on the radio telling the clinic what to prepare for their arrival, and Greg was in the back watching over Will. Finally they made it back to Yuba's perimeter, and from there they made a beeline to the clinic. Will was unloaded and taken inside, followed frantically by his friends.

Chloe barely saw as Will was carried into surgery when her mom seized her and pulled her into the tightest hug she ever got. "Oh my god," she said, as the other parents hauled in their respective children. "Chloe—oh god, are you okay?" Her mom looked over every inch of her as she coddled her. Spotting her wound, she screeched, "_What happened?_"

"I'm fine!" she said, pulling her arm free and looking over at Will's parents. Kat and Cole were being held back as they desperately tried to get into the surgery room, and the guilt flooded inside of her all over again.

"Are you sure?" her dad asked, coming up and putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Mark told us what happened. Taking a life—"

"Dad, _I don't care about that!_" Chloe told him forcefully, actually irritated by his reaction. She knew for a fact that he didn't concern himself very much, if at all, when Jack did it six years ago. "I did what I had to do."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he squeezed her shoulder. "That's my girl."

"You actually support this?" her mom screeched angrily.

"She has to defend herself, Marge," her dad retorted fiercely.

"Honey," Dennis tried to say, grasping her. "He's right."

"No, I won't have my daughter—"

"Forget it!" Chloe said angrily. She wasn't about to argue with her, especially now when her friend was getting operated on. Blowing them off, she went over to Will's parents, who were still waiting by the doors mortified with their other two kids. "Cole. Kat. I'm so sorry…going out was all my idea."

"Oh…Chloe, no, no, it wasn't you who shot Will," Kat reassured her.

"She's right, it was that asshole. Good job taking care of him," Cole said.

The night was getting on and Chloe and her friends were told that they should get to bed and wait until the morning for news. But they weren't having any of that. All four of them were staying on the couches in the clinic's lobby along with Will's family. Chloe's parents left, but Becky lagged behind hoping to speak to her. Knowing what it was about, she assured Becky that she bore no responsibility in Chloe's idea to skip town for a night.

The hours passed in silence. People went in and out of surgery, but they wouldn't answer any of their questions. It wasn't until five in the morning that Greg came out of surgery looking tired but content, followed by Will who was being rolled out on a bed. Will was unconscious, though, as he was wheeled into recovery.

"He's stable," Greg announced. "Family can go in once he wakes up, I've got someone keeping an eye on him. We're gonna keep him here for a few days to watch for infection." Rubbing his eyes, Greg went into another room as everyone present let out a huge sigh of relief and began hugging each other.

It was about another hour that an assistant came out of recovery, also looking very tired, to tell them that he was awake and ready for visitors. Cole and Kat went in without a second's hesitation. Chloe, Mark, Kendra, and Joanne simply waited until it was their turn to go in and see him.

"Oh thank god! I thought I might not have done enough!" Kendra groaned, rubbing her hands on her face but quickly pulling it away. They were caked in dried up blood. "Ugh, I better wash up."

"Me too," said Chloe queasily, noticing she also still had blood on her.

Together they went over to the water basin and cleaned up. Now that it looked like Will was going to be okay, Chloe felt exhausted. As soon as she got her visit in, she was going straight to bed. Will's parents were in there for an understandably long time, and they didn't leave until the sun had completely risen.

"Don't take too long," Kat advised, as she and Cole left. "He's really out of it." But surprisingly when the four friends took their seats around Will's bed, they found him sitting as straight as he could manage with a smile on his face.

"How're you feeling?" Joanne asked.

"Great!"

"Yeah right, how're you feeling?" Chloe said.

"Like shit," Will admitted with groan, sagging more in his bed. "Man, I wish they had that morphine stuff I've heard about."

They simply talked for a little while, at one point Chloe apologizing for dragging him out there in the first place. Will immediately waved that off (with a cringe), and claimed that it was his own damn fault. "I didn't react right to the gunfire. All I cared about when I ran outside was whether you were okay or not."

"Idiot," Chloe said, though she smiled a little, "the enemy comes first."

For as long as they could they just chatted as if everything were normal. They all knew that people were out right now collecting the horses from the rundown house, and possibly investigating the body left behind. After promising Will that he'd be kept informed if anything unexpected turned up, one of the clinic staff told them that they had to leave so he could get some rest.

Before Chloe was out the door, however, Will suddenly blurted out, "Hey, Chloe!"

"What?" she responded, stopping and turning to look at him. Joanne and Kendra also stopped, but Mark unexpectedly grabbed their collars of their shirts and yanked them out the door. The door slammed shut, and now Chloe and Will were alone. _Mark is so dead!_

"So, uh," he began nervously. "Um, over that breakup?"

Chloe burst out laughing, because she had completely forgotten the reason that they went out in the first place. "Seriously? I'm pretty sure this whole thing drove him out of my mind."

Snickering too, he said, "Almost makes getting shot worth it…. Hey, since that's the case, I was wondering…"

"Uh huh," Chloe said, crossing her arms.

"After I get better…I dunno, wanna hang out or—uh…"

"Will," she started, irritated, "either grow a fucking pair and ask me properly, or give it up!"

"Wanna go out with me after I get better?" Will blurted out all at once.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Chloe answered, "Sure."

"Awesome!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking. With that done, Chloe was about to go, paused, and then went over to his side. Chloe kissed his cheek and took her leave, leaving him dumbfounded. It wasn't as if she fell in love with him or something in the last twenty-four hours—that'd be stupid! But she knew Will was a good guy who deserved a fair shot.

On the way back to her house, Chloe spotted a group of people that her dad was a part of. Spotting her, he told them, "We'll talk at my office."

"Hey, dad," she greeted. "I really am alright, y'know."

"And I believe you," he said. "I'm just here to tell you you're grounded."

"_What?_" Chloe said, her jaw dropping.

"Oh please, you must've seen this coming," her dad said, bemused.

"Yeah, but—but—"

"Have your mom redress that wound, and get some rest. You'll be pulling guard duty all night tonight. See you later, sweetheart," her dad said, kissing the top of her head and leaving.

_Parents!_ Chloe thought.


End file.
